


Who Are You?

by SupposedToBeWriting



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, First Meetings, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Time Travel, Trying To Return To Their Own Time, rebellious phases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 77,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupposedToBeWriting/pseuds/SupposedToBeWriting
Summary: An astral storm sends bondmates Jim and Spock hurtling back in time to the year 2251. Jim meets 20-year-old Spock in San Francisco, enrolled in Starfleet Academy and undergoing an identity crisis. Spock meets 18-year-old Jim in Riverside, impulsive and yearning to run away. Jim and Spock must learn to work with the difficult younger version of their bondmate  -- or be trapped in the past forever.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 96
Kudos: 193





	1. An Indeterminate Time in the Future Present

When they had docked at the starbase, Jim had been thrilled to discover that that they’d had a grav-sphere football field. That had led to a cascade of quick communications with all the eagerness of a young boy ringing up the neighborhood kids’ houses, led simultaneously with professional pre-leave systems checks: _Sulu, up for a quick round of soccer? Scotty, I’ll kick your ass. Bones, I know you’re in for a quick game. Chekov!_ In no time, and only an hour after the engines had been killed, 22 officers of the _Enterprise_ had assembled on the field.

Surrounding them in an isolating bubble was a thick glass pane, far above the field itself. Its purpose was to alter gravity within the field. Jim was _absolutely_ going to be trying out half-gravity baseball at some point, but for now, he’d had an urge for the good, old-fashioned Terran sport of soccer. Half-gravity was slotted for three games from now, at the end of this inter-departmental soccer tournament. Jim expected he’d be lauding his achievements by then.

If one were to get close to the edge of the field, they could look down at the starbase far, far below their sphere. The grav-sphere was anchored to it by a permanent tractor beam, nothing more than a dazzling beam of light that didn’t seem very substantial at all. Above them, Jim could see the synthetic atmosphere given by the starbase. It was emulating a cloudless sunny day, a perfect illumination for the game going on below. The temperature was bracing and dry, and Jim had been near- _giddy_ when he’d changed into his civilian clothes. When was the last time he’d gotten to relax?

The current game was Command-Medical-Engineering (CME) vs Ops-Navigation-Security (ONS). Jim had a large smear of dark-red dirt (synthetic, to be sure, but it felt as real as the old field from his childhood in Iowa where he’d coached little kids playing baseball) across the front of his shirt, but C-M-E was up by two and that was all that mattered.

“I’m too fucking old for this,” Bones grumbled at his side as they jogged into formation. “Why the hell did I agree to this?” Chapel was on Jim’s other side, one smear of grass-and-dirt on her cheek. Jim didn’t think he’d seen her hair down in ages, but it was fastened against the back of her neck in a tight ponytail. The grass was so green here, and smelled, somehow, like it’d just been cut. Here he was, with his favorite people in the world.

“You can always go join the others,” Chapel advised the chief medical officer. She gestured with one direction towards the two senior officers who had decided _not_ to play.

Nyota was sitting on a beach chair, reclined comfortably in her civilian clothing. A large black umbrella shielded her from the sun’s rays, her large sunglasses obscuring most of the upper half of her face. A PADD was in her hands; she languidly ran her finger over it once or twice. Jim didn’t think that she’d looked up at the game more than once or twice. Maybe when the victorious raucous yelling had disturbed her quiet academic endeavors.

Next to her, similarly reclining, was Spock. Spock had declined the use of an umbrella, though he had donned a pair of darkened sunglasses to protect his eyes from the sun. He also had a PADD in his hand. Jim had sort of figured that Spock wasn’t going to play in the game, but he’d been convinced that he wouldn’t when he’d seen his bondmate don black pants, a black tunic, and long black Vulcan robes. At least the robes were unfastened and opened, giving Spock (at least) the illusion of dressing-down. Together with Uhura’s similarly muted clothing, they looked like quite a pair. Occasionally Spock would reach over and press his fingers against the railing of Uhura’s chair, asking some question or another, to which she would respond quietly. Jim had caught Spock looking at him once or twice, though, and didn’t miss the opportunity to blow him a kiss to Spock’s light-hearted irritation.

“Yeah, I’ll pass on that. I think they might try and suck my blood if I wander over,” Bones shot back to his nurse.

“Hey, the only person that Spock’s allowed to suck is –"

The look Bones shot him was so severe and venomous that Jim cut himself off with a bark of a laugh. He caught the ball when it was tossed to him, setting it between him and his chief of security. “You ready, Lieutenant?” Jim teased. “You’re down by two. If you want to throw in the towel now, I won’t judge. There’s something to be said for knowing when you’ve gotten your ass kicked.”

Sulu rolled his eyes at him. Jim had to marvel how good it was to see everyone in civilian gear, exhausted and sweaty but thoroughly enjoying themselves. Nearly everyone looked dirty and sweaty, but there was a glitter to everyone’s eyes. “I’ve taken worse odds. There’s still time to beat you so badly that you’ll have to report me to Starfleet.”

“Big talk, man.” The referee, a monotone hologram, blew his whistle and the play was on. Sulu kicked the ball away from him before he could get it for himself. The ball continued towards their goal, with Chekov closely defending Sulu. Bones stood as goalkeeper, ready to deflect. Jim saw a streak of blond as Chapel went to fight for it.

“Captain!” Scotty barked out. Jim almost cracked his neck to look at him, about midway across the field. “Go towards their goal! I’ve got an idea!”

As almost 15 officers went to crowd around their own goal, Jim figured that it was a better idea than joining the fray. “I trust you, Scotty!” He called back, starting a slow jog towards Rand guarding the O-N-S goal. It was almost deserted, and Jim gave a quick jerk of the head in greeting towards the ops officer. “’Sup, Jan.”

“Jim,” she greeted stiffly, competitive. Jim leaned forward on his knees, watching the ball get passed back and forth between the others. Like he’d been shot from a bullet, Scotty was right in the midst of the crew. _What_ _ **are**_ _you planning, Scotty?_ “How’s the husband?” It was said with all ironic nonchalance - as if they were gathered around the water cooler.

His eyes shot over to said husband, clad entirely in black and reading very intently. Jim wouldn’t have been surprised if he was getting ahead on laboratory reports. On shore leave. Jesus.

“Going through a goth phase,” Jim remarked.

There was no way that Spock could have heard him, but his eyes lifted nonetheless. He lowered his sunglasses with one finger to watch him over the bridge of his nose. Jim waved. “Actually, I think we’re pulling off a pretty cool bad boy/golden boy dynamic.”

That made Janice laugh, pressing her hands to her hips. “Commander Spock, a bad boy. Don’t think I could imagine it. I’ll bet you a drink that he’s reading a science department report right now.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I know when not to take a doomed bet, Jan.”

“ _Captain!”_ Scotty howled from the other side of the field. The noise was loud enough to startle Spock and Uhura from their PADDs, now watching the game proceed. “Get your head ready!”

With an impressive amount of strength, Scotty’s foot made contact with the ball. It sailed over the field, directly to Jim. Jim couldn’t calculate the odds, but he figured, at a rough estimate, he had about one-in-a-million shot of making this move work. _Could_ he impact the ball with his body, let it fall to the ground, and then take advantage of a relatively deserted field to make a goal?

Yes.

But he wasn’t going to do that, and Jim was positive Scotty knew that.

Jim leapt forward and, with less planning than he probably should have, headbutted it _hard._ At first, Jim didn’t even see where it had ended. He had fallen to the ground and the air had been knocked out of him. Jim blinked and saw stars, pressing one hand to his head. _Ow._

He was brought out of his daze when he heard the thrilled cheers of his team behind him.

When he managed to look up again, he saw a frustrated Rand standing in front of the goal. Behind her was the football. It was nestled against the net comfortably.

_How many one-in-a-million shots have I made in my life?_

Suddenly, he was being grabbed by ten pairs of hands, Bones included. Jim turned around to realize that he was being lifted up in the air. He started to laugh as he was raised to the sky. “Captain, Captain, he’s our man,” Scotty belted out as the rest of the crew continued cheering him on.

Jim’s heart swelled in his chest. Ten pairs of hands were lifting him up, _cheering_ his name. Across the field, he saw Chekov bitterly kick at the grass. Sulu put a hand against his shoulder in comfort.

The world shifted again as he was lowered to the ground. Chapel put a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady as Jim got his bearings, his head still a light ache. It would dissipate soon. “Where would I be without my team?” Jim relayed diplomatically. He slapped one hand on Scotty’s back. “That was a magnificent play, Engineer Scott. Couldn’t have done it with you.” The Scotsman beamed at him, genuine admiration in his eyes.

Before he could continue, he saw his team start to part. Sulu walked through them, and he heard the celebrations quiet all around him. Jim’s smile turned sympathetic, and he opened his mouth to assuage the wound.

Sulu thrust out a hand to shake. “Three up. I think that’s enough time to call a winner, and I can’t imagine a better play to end it on. That was one hell of a play, Captain.”

“And one hell of a competition,” Jim agreed as he shook Sulu’s hand. “Next round, let’s have the security officers switch with the medical officers. See how that shakes up.”

“Glad to know I’ve got a legitimate excuse to hurt you, Jim.” Bones was at his side, arms crossed over his shoulders. “Try _not_ to bust that head of yours in the next play. Let me take a look at that. Jesus, you’re not eighteen anymore.” Suddenly, there were fingers tenderly probing at his skull, and Jim let out a small protest. “Just a bruise. Good. Your few remaining brain cells are clinging to life.”

“Hey, I took enough hits to the head when I was a kid. It’s basically cast iron up there,” Jim joked, rapping his fingers along his temple. The crew let out a jovial laugh, but Jim noticed that Bones, the only one in the circle who knew about his past life, only sent him a stern look. _It’s a coping mechanism, Bones, liven up a little._ “Alright. Everyone take a fifteen minute break and then we’ll start again.”

As the crowd of crewmembers dispersed, Jim turned back to stare at the two detached parties. His heart always warmed to see his bondmate, even moreso when he seemed relaxed. If it weren’t for the PADD placed in front of his face, Spock could have been sleeping.

The same PADD was placed down when Jim approached him. “Vulcan hospitality, babe – it means that this seat’s mine,” he greeted warmly as he slid onto the beach chair. It wasn’t large enough to comfortably support two men’s bodies, so he was half on Spock’s lap, half crammed in against the armrest of the chair. “Hey, Uhura.” Uhura waved a few fingers at him in greeting.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” She kept her hand raised in the air, displaying three fingers. Spock’s hand slunk around his waist silently.

Jim feigned thought. “Uh, I think I need the scientific advice of my first officer. It’s the concussion, y’know.”

A cold hand had suddenly found its way underneath his shirt, brushing against the skin of his side. Nevertheless, Jim yelped in surprise. Spock’s hand was _cold._ “He is being deceptive, Nyota. I sense no brain injury or pain from him.”

“Okay, I see how it is. What happened to being my partner in crime for the rest of my life, huh?” Jim flirted. He wrapped one arm around Spock’s neck to get close to him as he settled their foreheads together. Their bond fluttered at the touch – it was either that, or his own heart, or both.

So much of their lives were spent being leaders (and, even if both he and Spock cringed at the term, heroes). So much of their lives were spent making impossible decisions, sacrificing lives as if they’d been given the power. So much of their lives were spent trying to keep everyone safe. So much of their lives were spent being, in a word, _mature._ Jim was almost tearfully overjoyed to take advantage of a moment where he could be juvenile, light-hearted, stupidly and dumbly happy with a man he loved more than anything.

With one of the parties entirely Human and the other party half-Human, Jim knew that their bond wasn’t as telepathically strong as some Vulcan-Vulcan pairs. Spock had told him stories of Vulcan bondmates being able to read one another’s thoughts, their minds so closely interlinked that it was difficult to tell where one began and where one ended. Privately, Jim knew that it bothered Spock - he just didn’t have the telepathic ability to create a bond of that caliber.

They could feel one another’s emotions from a distance (strong ones, anyway), but Jim had never been able to get any sense of Spock’s thoughts, nor Spock of his. Touch made it easier to determine his more subtle feelings, while distance made it more difficult to determine even very strong feelings. The exact distance hadn’t been measured yet, but Spock had confessed that he’d once been able to feel Jim’s pain when he’d broken his leg on an away mission. It was a rough estimate.

Regardless, Jim couldn’t be more thrilled with the bond, as it stood. He wouldn’t want Spock to be inflicted with whatever ran through his mind on a daily basis. Especially now, feeling Spock’s own youthful happiness and playfulness reflected at him – Jim was _content._

“Was that part of our vows?” Spock asked facetiously, meeting Jim’s bright eyes with his dark ones. “How odd. I don’t recall.”

His husband was _relaxed,_ comfortable, and ever so slightly aroused by his bondmate partially sitting on his lap. “It was in with the fluff about sickness and health. Were you watching me out there, Spock?”

“I was. I also looked up the official regulations of the sport, to determine if what you did with your head is a legal move.”

“And?”

“Technically so, yes. It’s rather telling, that humanity considers their head to be another limb.” Spock’s arm loosened around his waist, wrinkling nose. His eyes flicked downward, and Jim sensed mild displeasure radiating from him. Jim followed his eyes. He’d just transferred some of the mahogany-colored dirt to Spock’s black robes. “You’re dirty.”

“That’s what happens when you have a little fun, Spock. Come on, join me next game. None of the science officers wanted to play. I’ll even let you be on my team. Or, if you really want to tackle me like Bones does, you can play opposite.”

“I am contenting myself in this chair, thank you. I will not be partaking.”

Jim let out an aggrieved sigh, raising his hand to delicately brush his fingers across Spock’s hair. “Come on. What about having some fun?”

“I will remain here. I have no need for contact sports as you do.”

“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever just had fun in your life,” Jim lamented in an overly dramatic fashion. His muscles released, causing him to lean against Spock’s chest entirely. Spock didn’t seem to mind, even as more of the dirt transferred. “Pretty sure you just read for eighteen years, joined Starfleet, then you met me and that was the _first_ fun thing you’ve ever done.”

Amusement snaked lazily through Spock. His brown eyes shined at him with undisguised affection. “That is an accurate description of events, ashayam.”

Man, was he a _sucker_ for being ashayammed. It made his heart flutter. Jim relented in his prodding. They had leave here for another two weeks. Jim had enough time to bring Spock out and have fun. Already, he’d made plans for him and Spock. Hell, he was even planning to sit through an orchestra with the guy. More than marrying him, more than bonding with him, Jim was certain that was the surest sign of devotion. What was more, he was even excited for it. Spock was his best friend, first and foremost.

Spock’s fingers were resting lovingly on his back, looking like his heart was sputtering as well. Love seeped through the bond, as clear as water, and Jim returned the same. It’d been so long since they’d just gotten a break, hadn’t it? They’d had so many difficult missions recently.

“Okay, okay,” Jim murmured. “How about a kiss for good luck? I want to keep my streak going.”

Spock removed his hand from Jim’s side and raised two fingers from it, his index and muddle. Jim’s hand was already up, having anticipated the action. If they were in their quarters together, maybe Spock would be willing to fully embrace him. There were about two dozen crew members present, though, and there were limits to that sort of affection. Jim was content with this.

Their fingerpads pressed together, and Jim closed his eyes to relax. He was willing to spend his entire fifteen minute break cuddling with his bondmate on this chair. Spock kept his fingers against his. Jim could feel his heart beat strong in his side.

Life on the ship was stressful. There were good days, though, days where Jim was confident that even a teddy bear would be able to captain the Enterprise. Then there were days that Jim felt like an utter failure, like he ought to be demoted to Ensign and work his way back up from the bottom again. Spock was a gift on those days. Spock knew him, inside and out, his deepest thoughts and his worst fears, and Spock always got him out of the cold.

This, though, wasn’t going to be stressful. Jim looked forward to being able to act like a civilian with the love of his life. Two weeks, and then back to the job he loved more than anything in the world.

“I love you,” Jim sighed. Who would’ve thought that he’d ever be one to admit _that?_ The flighty, twitchy teenager from Riverside, Iowa could never have imagined this life for himself. In a way, he was almost glad he hadn’t. This was a better outcome than he ever could have imagined.

Spock separated their fingers and went back to holding him by his waist again. “I love you,” he informed him, a voice so soft that Jim didn’t think even Uhura could hear it next to them, “With all my heart and soul.”

Someone cleared his throat from behind them. As if a button were pressed, Spock took his hand back and Jim winced. “Engineer Scott,” Spock greeted professionally.

“ _Scotty,_ kind of busy here,” Jim remarked, turning around so that he could rest his back against the chair. Spock pushed himself up from the chair to allow Jim to sit properly.

Scott’s hands were in his pockets, somewhat abashed. “Sorry to break up you two lovebirds, but there’s a bit of an incident with the lovely lady.”

Just like that, the romantic atmosphere was shattered. Jim stood from the chair and walked over, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the matter with the _Enterprise?”_

“Nothing! Well, nothing yet. They’re just ordering all ships to be moved, on account of an astral storm about to start brewing. They’ve got a crew up there willing to do it for us, but they need your official go-ahead. They’ve got a lunar colony a little whiles away, maybe an hour, where they’ll keep her.”

Maybe Jim had been a little overzealous with the idea that shore leave had already started. He sighed and lowered his head in defeat. “Okay. I’ll go take a shuttle up and make the arrangements.” Over his shoulder, he offered a small smile to much. “You want to sub in for me on the field, Commander?”

In a moment, Spock was standing himself next to Jim’s side. “Captain, I request that I return to the _Enterprise_ with you. If there is risk of astral storms occurring in the area, I would prefer to collect several botanical samples and keep them on the starbase with us. Any interfering electromagnetic radiation will be catastrophic for their growth.”

That made it a _little_ better. Any time spent with Spock was always a bonus. Scotty dipped his head in understanding. “Right. You two will want to be heading off now, then, they think the storm’ll be here in naught but an hour.”

Nothing needed to be said. Jim shared a look with Spock and they departed the grav-sphere field, with a promise that whoever won the next game for the Command team would definitely be getting a drink from him at some point. As they stepped into the small shuttle-bay in the grav-sphere, it gave Jim a very good look at the rest of the starbase.

Jim had chosen it specifically because of its wide appeal. They could go watch a few sports games if they wanted. They could go wander in the park. There was morning and evening meditation. There were manmade oceans and rivers to swim in. Even a small mountain range if they had an urge to go hiking. That was to say _nothing_ of the new holodecks they’d just implemented. He hadn’t ever been in one before, but had read about their potential since he was a kid.

Their shared quarters also had quite the draw. He’d been in them only briefly to place his things down, but there was a balcony that overlooked the landscape. They could see the sunset from there. Even if it wasn’t technically from a _real_ sun, Jim was nevertheless compelled by it. A large bath, with actual _water,_ was definitely in his future. Maybe not Spock’s, precisely, who had turned up his nose at the very thought.

Most importantly, it was going to be two uninterrupted weeks with his husband. No nights where he had to go asleep alone because Spock had to work overnight, no mornings where he woke up to an empty bed because of an emergency in the science laboratories. No moments where he worried about Spock’s safety. No stress-induced retorts on the bridge. No moments where he had to treat Spock as if he _wasn’t_ the most important man on the ship, in the galaxy, in his heart. They could be normal.

Spock needed it as much as he did. He watched Spock politely request a shuttle from the attendant from a distance. Even moreso than Jim himself, it was easy for Spock to get wrapped up in work, to not think of anything _but_ work. Sometimes having a non-work conversation with Spock was impossible. He still didn’t know everything about the man, his inner thoughts or his past, but Spock was far from a stranger. As unusual as it sounded, Jim was grateful for the opportunity to get away from work and _know_ him more. Pulling out personal history from his husband was like pulling teeth.

“You wanna navigate, Spock?” Jim asked as they climbed into the two-man shuttle. Comfortable, not meant for long distance travel, but it would get them to the _Enterprise,_ docked in orbit. “I don’t have a preference.”

“You prefer to pilot, I know,” Spock responded in amusement. And Jim _did._ He liked driving, whether it was cars or entire starships. Spock sat in the navigational chair for a moment, making a few quick motions on the screen. “But it will not be necessary. The autopilot will be able to navigate to the ship just as well. It’s only a short distance.”

“Yeah. I guess there’s nothing we have to be on the lookout for. It’s just like a ski lift. Straight shot up to the _Enterprise.”_

“If necessary, you can make the navigational adjustments. It will not be a very long trip.” Spock stood up from the navigational controls. Jim nodded, uttered a word of thanks, and turned around to inspect the shuttle again. He kept an eye on a wall panel at the various dials and panels. For standard starbase fare, it was a _nice_ shuttle. Jim would have to keep that in mind when –

Arms around his waist, strong and decidedly Vulcan. Spock squeezed him against the front of his chest. “You performed very well in the match, ashayam,” he cooed, breath tickling against Jim’s neck. His lips must have been just an inch or two away. “I was watching you.”

“Oh?” Jim turned around in Spock’s arms. His hands slid under Spock’s robes and pressed flat against his tunic. “Were you watching _me_ or watching me _play?_ Because, and I know how Vulcans go _wild_ for technicalities, that’s a very important technical difference.” The arousal he’d previously sensed hadn’t been much more than a mental tickle before, but now held the subtlety of a freight train, compounded by Spock’s dilated pupils.

Spock kissed him hungrily, one arm raising from Jim’s middle to encircle his neck. Jim didn’t hesitate to return. His hand slid underneath Spock’s tunic, pushing it up as he stroked along Spock’s side. They broke for air infrequently and briefly before swooping back in again.

It was always hard to tell what Spock was thinking. Although sensing his feelings every now and then was helpful, sometimes Spock’s mind felt like an indecipherable enigma. Like making out in a shuttle. If Jim had known _this_ was an option for the two of them, he would’ve tried this years ago.

Spock uncurled his arm around Jim’s waist. He took – _grabbed, really_ – one of Jim’s hands at his side and held it high above their heads. The friction of their hands rubbing against one another caused Spock to utter a whine, deep in his throat, a noise that only became more pitiful when Jim squeezed his hand tight.

There was something to be said for a species that had could get such stimulation from their hands.

Whether innocent or payback, Spock broke from Jim’s lips to start attacking his neck. “And who – who said Vulcans were buttoned-up – “ Jim got out, unable to miss a single verbal opportunity to tease his bondmate. Spock grew more fervent, tongue darting out to lick against Jim’s skin. The action obliterated any opportunity for Jim to have coherent speech, and finished the statement by moaning Spock’s name.

_Ten minutes. Trip should take about ten minutes to the Enterprise. We could make it work._

Surprisingly, fucking in a shuttle would be a first for him. Jim ran his hand over Spock’s front, sliding down until it reached his waistband. Before he could get a good grip on it, Spock bucked his pelvis into Jim’s hand. _Man, there’s nothing like an eager Vulcan._ Content to bask in the moment, Jim rested his hand on Spock’s groin and tilted his head back, feeling starbursts of pleasure erupt all over his neck.

“There’s –” Spock’s voice was rough and low as he spared Jim’s neck, causing a shiver to rattle down Jim’s spine. He cleared his throat. “There’s a small bed. We can – “

“Frankly, Mr. Spock,” Jim teased, “Unprofessional. Bordering on insubordination. Aren’t you supposed to be my navigator?”

At that, Spock did look towards the navigational controls, at the main viewscreen. Jim did the same. He would remember that look, momentary and oversexed as it was, for a long while in the future. There was nothing on the radar ahead of them. _Nothing._ The main viewscreen showed only inky black space, with the Enterprise and her moorings visible up ahead. They saw nothing. There _was_ nothing.

“It appears my duties are done,” Spock admitted in an almost innocent tone of voice. Jim looked towards him again, and realized Spock was sporting a half-smirk in his direction, eyes devious. “Most of them.”

Spock swooped forward again, capturing his mouth. He dropped Jim’s hand and allowed it to fall. It was useless, regardless – that long being held over his head, Jim had entirely lost feeling in it. Spock took advantage of his recently freed hand to reach for Jim’s waistband. With surprising deftness, he managed to loosen the button and pull down the zipper, while Jim had half-removed Spock’s robes. _Maybe it’s more like five minutes, but I’m sure we’ll be fine –_

Something struck the shuttle, careening hard against the top. The pair broke away to look at the ceiling of it. It was dented. A little more velocity and the projectile would have broken clean through.

There was still nothing on the radar, and the _Enterprise_ was still in focus. As they watched, however, he saw their trajectory start to … move. The nose of the shuttle, as if it were being nudged, started to veer to the left. More projectiles started to hit the shuttle, invisible both on the radar and the viewscreen, hitting them on all sides like hail. All around them, there was the sound of creaking metal as the shuttle’s integrity threatened to fail.

Alertness washed over them both.

Spock hopped into action first, going to the navigational console. Jim took the seat next to him. “Shields have failed entirely,” he reported, getting readouts from all systems. “Life support – life support is _damaged,_ Spock, we’re only getting five minutes more of oxygen. What the hell is this?”

The shuttle’s course started to alter further. Rather than a straight line, it was starting to arc, as if it were attempting to u-turn back to the starbase. “High levels of astral radiation, Captain. The frequency is too high to be read on our sensors.”

“What are the _projectiles?”_

“Source unknown. The scanner databases are unable to determine their exact composition, but that may be due to their excessive speed. They are moving very quickly, Captain.” Their eyes were both drawn to the main viewscreen as a projectile apparently hit it, causing a small, spider-web crack to form in the corner. It was growing. More dents were forming. The shuttle took such a severe turn, as if moved by some ghostly force, that it began to roll onto its side. Jim braced himself against the side of the shuttle as he reached for the radio.

“Starbase 39, this is shuttle 873B2. Repeat, this is shuttle 873B2. We’re being damaged by a non-physical entity of unknown origin, and the shuttle is beginning to break apart, I repeat, the shuttle is _beginning to break apart._ Two souls on board - Requesting _immediate_ assistance. I repeat, requesting immediate assistance.”

There was a haunting pause, and then the radio picked up again. “Shuttle 873B2, this is Starbase 39. We’re reading you loud and clear. The storm is broaching a lot more quickly than we thought. We’re sending one of the shuttles out from your _Enterprise_ to get you. ETA 10 minutes.”

“I don’t think we’re going to _have_ ten minutes. Start up the tractor beam on the _Enterprise._ We should be in range.”

“Understood, sir. Operating.” The radio shut out. Thirty seconds passed before the shuttle became immersed in hum and glow of the tractor beam. Slowly, the shuttle turned back to its proper direction as it began to get towed towards the Enterprise shuttle bay. Jim let out a breath of relief and looked over at Spock.

“Any idea what that was?”

“No, Captain. Still investigating via the sensor readings. They are not …” Spock hesitated, trailing off. _That_ wasn’t like him. “They are not unlike the temporal anomalies we have investigated in the past.”

Oh. “Do you think someone might be trying to get through again? Maybe we’re in their parking spot, that’s all.”

“Perhaps.” Spock still seemed troubled. Jim had opened his mouth to question again, before the radio lit up in activity.

“We’re bringing you in, sir. I’m sorry to say this, but you’ll have to hitch a ride on the _Enterprise_ for a little while until this storm passes. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours. Just not safe to get you back – _kzzt!”_ The radio became garbled, and when the operator’s voice started up again, it was considerably … _fuzzier_ than normal. There was some sort of _noise_ in the background, something that was much more melodic than simple radio static. “ – and we’d just be risking your safety. We’ve had these pop up on more than one occasion.” The noise started to grow louder. No, it was definitely a _song._ More to the point … he _knew_ that song. Jim heard a brass tuba sound loudly, the rattle of a snare drum.

“We’ll send word to your crew here that you’re safe-and-sound. The storm will be visible from the starbase surface, and it looks a lot nastier than it is. Don’t want them worrying about you.” Jim had to deduce the last few words from context clues, because the song had now grown louder than the operator’s voice. Now Jim was positive where he’d heard it before. The din of the voices rose over the instruments in the same familiar chant.

“Spock,” Jim asked quizzically, “Why on Earth is the radio playing Riverside High’s fight song?”

Spock was perplexed beside him, but at the question, he turned to look at Jim with concern in his eyes. “That is not what I am hearing.”

“ _What?”_ Jim shook his head as the noise grew louder, becoming even louder than their simple conversation. He automatically reached for the radio to turn it off, but before he could, the entire shuttle started to rattle. How could Spock not be hearing this? He couldn’t get the fucking song out of his head.

It was like a child had grasped the shuttle in their hand and started to shake it violently. Jim reached for both his armrests. He opened his mouth to make a noise, but found that his teeth were clattering together too much to even make a sound. “ _Spo –”_ He tried to get out, but bit his tongue so badly that he clamped his mouth shut in silence.

Spock was being similarly shaken next to him. Jim recognized the look in his eyes. _How can I best protect Jim in this situation?_ The look said, and Jim shook his head severely. No, they were going to be _fine,_ they were still being towed by the tractor beam, and they could see _her,_ see the _Enterprise,_ her shuttle bay doors were _open –_

While the former projectiles had been approximately the size of a baseball in diameter, this one was significantly … larger. With a sickening crunch, the roof of the shuttle bay collapsed inward. It was as if the shuttle had been punched downward, escaping the tractor beam entirely. Spock indicated the screen in front of them with one shaking finger. Good, because Jim’s attention was thoroughly elsewhere.

Life support failed. They weren’t getting oxygen pumped through the vents any longer. Jim looked up to Spock – he would survive longer than he would, but what was there to be done?

The music still played all-the-while, now loud enough to beat against Jim’s eardrums. Jim tasted blood in his mouth. A trumpet sounded loudly in his ear. _Not_ the song he wanted to die to. God, no. The smaller projectiles started up again, a thick _thud-thud-thud_ against all sides, and the crack in the main viewscreen grew larger, _larger,_ spreading across the entire surface.

Jim had squeezed his eyes shut tight. He wasn’t scared for what was ahead, but he just needed to get his thoughts in _order._ It was so _loud;_ he couldn’t _think;_ he just wanted to be able to _think._

There was one sensation that broke through the noise, the shaking. Jim was even aware of the shuttle starting to spiral downwards, like a fall leaf. As he tried to weigh their options, Jim was aware of his husband taking his hand.

Spock was _terrified._

Jim opened his eyes to look at him, and saw that Spock’s eyes reflected that emotion as well, stronger than anything else he was putting out. Spock did not know what to do and he was _scared_ and neither of them could _breathe._

 _I’ll hold your hand until the end,_ Jim promised him, even if he knew Spock couldn’t hear it. He continued holding Spock’s hand. _What a way to go – who wants to die listening to their high school fight song?_ And still it played. Jim could almost imagine the marching band, loud and brassy. His mind grew foggy as he started to run out of air. There were too many sensations going on: the noise of the radio, the shaking of the shuttle, the projectiles slamming into them, and the terror radiating from his bondmate’s hand.

Without thinking of it, Jim took his hand back to eliminate at least one of those sensations.

A splintering noise in front of him made his eyes open again, and Jim saw that the main viewscreen had split entirely. A beautiful spider web was in front of him, intricate and haunting, with only small fragments of endless space between the threads. _That’s not good,_ Jim thought dimly, _not good at all._

It grew even worse when the already-diminished strength of the viewscreen failed entirely. The main viewscreen shattered, sending an avalanche of glass fragments raining on their faces and exposing them to stark space.

Death from space exposure, without a suit, would take place in less than a minute – whether from cosmic radiation, or temperature fluctuations, or bodily fluids boiling, or even traditional lack of oxygen.

Within fifteen seconds of being exposed to the vacuum of space, however, both Spock and Jim disappeared entirely from that precise time and particular position. Within thirty seconds of being exposed to the vacuum of space, the unseen forces crushed what was left of the shuttle into a small, unrecognizable lump of gray metal. It continued spiraling out of space, well out of reach of the tractor beam to parts unknown.

When the operators in the _Enterprise_ shuttle bay retrieved what was left, they were flabbergasted to discover that the tractor beam had brought up one object only.

A standard Terran baseball.


	2. Riverside, Iowa 2251

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Brief allusions to parental abuse

Music. Faint and far away. The song itself was unfamiliar to him, but he could pick apart various instruments. A snare drum. A tenor saxophone. Clarinet. Tuba. Trombone. Bass drum. Cymbals. A trumpet. What an unusual mix of instruments, and above it all, he could hear the tune of lyrics.

_From the depths of the deep_

_To the farthest star abroad_

_We’re the Riverside Astronauts!_

_Astro!_

_Nauts!_

_We fight!_

_And fight!_

_And fight!_

_And you bet we’re here to stay!_

It was not precisely the most poetic song that had ever grace Spock’s ears, clearly sung by raucous schoolchildren. _Riverside Astronauts?_ Spock thought dimly, a large ache pounding through his head like a supernova. He was lying on his back. When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but blue sky above him. Spock made a move to sit up, but the pain that exploded through his head put a stop to that.

Instead, he laid on his back. _Suppress,_ Spock thought, letting the word become a part of him as much as his next inhale of air. He pictured the pain in his mind, a tangible object, and focused on deadening his physical body to it. One limb at a time, Spock exiled the pain, quarantining it to a smaller and smaller area before it existed solely in his own head. He pictured taking it and hiding it away, out of sight. Vulcan control made no concessions for _pain,_ Spock told himself.

While his eyes were shut, Spock felt something gently strike his fingertips. It did not hurt, but he could not place the texture. His fingers wrapped around it: spherical in nature, the surface was smooth, except … no, there was some stitching there, like a very thick fabric had been woven in it. _Have you suppressed the pain, Vulcan?_ Spock asked himself, and he knew the answer to the question.

When Spock leaned up again, he did so without hesitation and without difficulty. The pain was banished from his mind. Spock looked down at the object in his hand.

A baseball. Unusual. He put it down and attempted to look around, but failed in that matter. Spock was clearly in the middle of a large wheat field, the stalks sprouting from above his seated position. It didn’t smell particularly pleasant, and Spock felt uncomfortably itchy in his robes.

Why was he _here?_ Just ten minutes ago, Spock had presumed his death was imminent. He had been holding Jim’s hand and marveling at how little fear he felt, there. He had felt only Jim’s firm determination and almost close-minded willpower, but no fear. Then Jim had taken his hand away, and the viewscreen had bust open.

And then he’d woken up in the middle of a wheat field. Presumably Riverside, Iowa, though he could not say that for certain.

He recalled what Jim had heard over the radio, moments before the shuttle had collapsed. Spock had not known what to think. Categorically, Jim did not crack under stressful situations, but Spock hadn’t heard _anything_ _of th_ e so _rt._ It had been familiar, yes – hauntingly so – but it was about as far off from a high school fight song that Spock could imagine.

What Spock had heard was (and he shuddered that he recalled the name so immediately): _Neon/Dropping Ass in the Club_ by DJ Phi Upsilon Kappa, an electronic club song that had been popular decades ago.

Certainly not a high school fight song.

Looking from side to side, Spock came to the realization that he was alone in this wheat field.

Jim was not here.

Spock felt across the bond but felt nothing. That was not a surprise. Their bond had always been impaired by his own biology. It was not as strong as it could, and should, have been. At a minimum, Spock was reasonably certain that it had not broken, which meant that Jim was still alive. Somewhere. That could change at any moment, but unless he were to remain struck paralyzed with fear and indecision in this wheat field until Jim died - he had to determine why, exactly, he was here.

He dug his fingers into the earth. A few aphids weaved their way over his hand. The air was fresh, non-recycled. The sun beating down on him was as realistic as he could imagine. The sound of music drifting lazily over the breeze still reached his ears.

There was no guarantee that this was not some illusion. Many species in the galaxy were capable of doing so. Or perhaps this was simply what death was – the phrase ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ seemed relevant, now, as Spock squinted against the bright Terran sun beating down on him.

 _Foolish,_ Spock told himself. _You are beginning to sound like Jim._

Before he could force himself to a standing position, Spock heard something rustle just on the other side of the scores of wheat. He froze in his tracks, before Spock heard a very familiar voice.

“ _Jesus,_ Tim, I think you’ve got a baseball career ahead of you,” Jim was grumbling to himself, pushing his way past a few stalks of wheat. “This is the second ball you’ve hit out of the park.”

 _Jim._ At that moment, the words were not so important to him. Jim was here, and he sounded fine. Spock leapt to his feet with the intention of running forward. In doing so, however, his carefully controlled pain escaped its restraints and shoved him back down as if a weight had placed upon him. Clutching his head, Spock grunted in distress.

The rustling stopped. Spock looked up.

The man had stepped forward through the wheat stalks, clearly following the voice. Spock looked at him with uncertainty. Could he really believe his own eyes? Because what his eyes were telling him …

This was not Jim.

Or rather, it was not the Jim he knew.

Jim did not look _old._ For a man in a high-stress position and dubious self-care regimen, Spock had always marveled at how young Jim still looked. Spock could look at him and still see the irritating cadet that had provoked him so fiercely in the Academy. To what degree that was love emotionally compromising him and to what degree that was unalterable fact, Spock did not know.

There was, however, a strong difference between his husband and the man standing in front of him, who could not have been more than eighteen or nineteen years of age. This Jim had stubble growing across in face in thin patches and his hair was separated into messy tufts on the top of his head. He was wearing a pair of stained jeans and a faded T-shirt, displaying one of the first Terran astronaut uniforms.

Jim’s expression dropped into shock when he saw him.

“Holy shit. Are you okay? You’ve got _blood!_ “ Jim was on his knees in an instant, kneeling before him. Hands were pressing at his chest. Spock shook his head, trying to affirm that he was, in fact, alright. Jim pulled his hands away, now stained with the ruddy mud of the starbase’s football field. “No. Okay, that’s just dirt. Whew. You scared me, man. What are you doing out here? I have to say, finding a Vulcan in the middle of the wheat field is some real Superman or ET shit.”

It appeared that Jim’s fascination with “movies” from antiquity had started well before Spock met his acquaintance.

Spock tried not to let his actions be paralyzed from confusion. Quickly squirrelling the pain away in his mind again, Spock slowly rose to his feet. He tried to think of what Jim would do – Jim, cool and confident even in an entirely alien situation. Spock cleared his throat and coughed while trying to swallow, feeling dust and pollen in his throat.

“What year is it?” Spock asked, readjusting his black robes around himself carefully. He could not quite meet Jim’s eyes at the moment, his brain spinning.

“Oh, boy.”

That wasn’t an adequate answer. Spock raised an eyebrow at him, earnestly asking, as Jim settled his hands on his hips. He stared down at the ground, before raising bright blue eyes to meet Spock’s own. “You hit your head that bad, huh?”

Spock tried to assess if he _had,_ exactly, but he had no memory of it. He was in the shuttle one moment, and waking up on the ground with a splitting headache the next. “I don’t know,” Spock answered honestly, and that didn’t seem to appease Jim much.

Jim sighed. “Figures. Okay, do you remember your name?”

Most certainly, he did. He remembered his name, his rank, his ship assignment, and other common questions that Starfleet Medical prompted officers to ask when they suspected amnesia. He also knew his place of birth, his family structure, and the fact that he was married to the very man in front of him. Their wedding band was still on a chain around his neck, hidden entirely under his tunic.

Jim had opted to wear the ring around his finger. Spock suspected that he could do the same without much trouble. Vulcan hands were sensitive, but so long as the ring was fitted well, the friction would not distract him bunch. It was the rigors of the science officer job that eventually led him to bear it about his neck. He would never admit as much, but it would break his heart if he accidentally ruined it doing laboratory work.

It suited his neck just fine, anyway. Spock could always feel the light pressure of the silver ring on his chest, a symbol of both their bond and love.

Admitting as much to this young man in front of him would make him appear, Spock was certain, rabidly out of his mind. He did not know what was going on. He could formulate no theory without evidence. But admitting his real name seemed foolish, in case …

 _In case this is time travel,_ Spock’s mind returned to him, and he silently bemoaned the fact that he’d brushed against time travel so frequently that it so immediately surrendered itself as an option.

“Selek,” Spock instead lied, keeping his voice low. “My name is Selek, of the planet Vulcan.”

“Well, Selek of the planet Vulcan: it is 2251 and you look like shit. Why don’t you sit back down?” Jim asked, reaching forward for Spock’s shoulder. Spock instinctively moved it away.

2251\. Jim Kirk was eighteen years old. He tried to think of what he knew of Jim’s life, now, and came up with very little. This was after his time trapped on Tarsus IV, but well before he joined the Academy. Jim had told him little of his life in this period. Spock was uncertain if that was intentional or not.

“I am fine. I –” Before Spock could continue, there was a loud shriek behind Jim, further down the path. Spock saw what appeared to be a human child running towards them … with a baseball bat. Jim jumped and turned around at the noise.

The child’s face was screwed up in determination. “Romulan attack!” He howled, and Spock instinctively rose one eyebrow in confusion. “They’re invading Earth!” When the child opened his mouth, Spock saw that he was missing his front two teeth. _Dey’re inbading Eard!_

As the child sprung forward, Spock realized that the child was going for _him._ He had raised his bat to attack, clearly aiming for Spock’s knees. “Won’t let you take Mr. Jim too!”

Just as Spock took a step backward, Jim’s hand shot out to grasp the edge of his shirt. It was enough to stop the child in his tracks. “Mr. _Jim,”_ the boy insisted, pointing at Spock with his free hand. “Romulan _attack.”_

There was a hint of wry amusement on Jim’s face. Spock didn’t quite understand and went up to run his fingers alongside the edge of his ears. To him, mistaking a Vulcan for a Romulan was as difficult as mistaking a Human for a naked molerat. Generally pink and helpless, but otherwise had several distinguishing characteristics.

Jim easily plucked the bat from the boy’s hands. “Tim,” he chuckled, patting the top of his head. “Selek here’s not a Romulan. He’s a Vulcan. Different planet altogether. Take a better look at his face.”

Tim’s lower lip stuck out at Spock, as if considering this. He didn’t seem convinced.

“He doesn’t have the shoulder pads either, see?”

“What’s he doin’ in Mr. Jones’ wheat field?”

Spock had the feeling that he was not doing a spectacularly good job at _blending in._ At least he was no longer under threat of assault from an eight-year-old boy with a wooden baseball bat. Silently, he reached down and scooped up the baseball with one hand. He mimed throwing it to the child and, once Timothy understood, Spock gave it a little toss over.

“I am investigating Earth,” Spock finished as Jim scrambled for a decent explanation. “And decided to conclude my study by examining the insect life located on your wheat plants.”

Tim looked up at Jim curiously, clearly deferring to his authority. Spock did not recall Jim ever mentioning a child of this name in his childhood. When Jim nodded, Tim took a step forward and leaned forward to inspect the thick fabric of Spock’s robes. “You’re really examining the insect life. You’ve got aphids _all_ over you.”

Spock looked down at himself. Indeed. He brushed the creatures off of his clothing self-consciously.

“Hey. Why don’t you go bring those back to the others and tell them to call it for the day? Sun’s starting to go down, and I know you all go to school tomorrow.”

“ _You’re_ telling _me_ to go to school?” Tim asked, stupefied, to which Jim ruffled his hair.

“Do as I say, not as I do. Go on.” To which the young child did, running back off down the path with bat and ball in hand. Jim shot Spock a side-look. He wasn’t suspicious, for which Spock was grateful, but there was a look of disbelieving bemusement. “Earth study?”

Spock fell silent. He did not know how to answer. _Yes, I was in a shuttle with you, fifteen years older than yourself, my husband, my bondmate, and my Captain. Then the shuttle tore apart and there is no logical reason why I have been transported back in time._ Jim clearly already thought him utterly out of his mind.

“Come on. Let’s get you somewhere to rest. There’s a clinic, in town –“

“No,” Spock started immediately. No. If he _were_ back in time, then he needed to be incredibly careful with how he conducted himself. As few people needed to see him – to know of him – as possible. The young boy Timothy seeing him was bad enough, but people asking questions about where he’d come from, why he was there … Spock did not want to disrupt the natural flow of time. Perhaps Jim was alright, especially since he’d already given a fake name to him. “No, no doctors, please.”

The light in Jim’s eyes changed. He shut his mouth and gave a firm nod, not questioning him any further. “No doctors. Alright. I know somewhere else that you can stay. Nobody will find you there.”

Perhaps Jim thought that he was on the run, from something or someone. Very well. Spock was going to allow him to believe it for now. He had to sit somewhere, preferably with access to a computer, and plan his next course of action. Spock agreed with Jim, and together, they started to go back down the path.

The path closely followed the wheat field. On the other side, Spock saw … another wheat field. Indeed, up until the path took a sharp turn to the right, Spock only saw wheat fields. He strained his ears to hear for anything else besides the rustling of wheat, but it was all wheat, wheat, wheat. This had been Jim’s hometown? Spock suddenly ached for the sprawling desert of Vulcan. Certainly, the haze had been severe some days, but he never felt quite so claustrophobic there.

They continued down the path. Spock could not say for certain whether they were going further towards or farther away from civilization. His head started to ache weakly, and Spock had to restrain a noise of frustration at himself. What good was mental control if he couldn’t permanently partition away _pain?_ “The boy,” Spock finally asked. He was curious, after all. “Why did he presume I was Romulan? We are deep within the Alpha Quadrant.”

Jim blushed and ran a hand across the back of his neck. Spock had to marvel at him. He seemed so young, free of much of the stress that Spock had seen on him in age. “Uh, well, my name – I’m Jim Kirk. If that rings any bells.”

_Yes. I know. It is written on my heart more times than I can count._

Spock nevertheless perfected his innocently blank expression.

“Guess it didn’t reach Vulcan. Just know that, um, Riverside aren’t exactly the biggest fans of Romulans, and we don’t see a lot of Vulcans around here.”

 _Oh._ It hit Spock then. A relatively isolated town on Earth, whose brush with alien species probably started and ended with the time that George Kirk was killed by a Romulan vessel. Certainly, there was the shipyard and Starfleet around, but Spock could not say for certain to what extent Starfleet influence – and its principles of inclusion and forgiveness – had affected Riverside.

“I see,” Spock murmured to himself. “And the child is your … friend?”

“I guess? I sort of help them out with their baseball team when I have the time. ‘Coach’,” Jim uttered, quotation marks and all, “Is kind of a big word.”

Jim had never told him that he had coached a children’s _baseball team_ when he was in Riverside. Spock paused at the revelation before continuing along. Together, they rounded the corner and Spock saw a long-paved street. On a right hand side, he saw a small family home. Behind it, a barn that had clearly been standing for some time. Surrounding everything else, wheat.

“Alright, Mr. Questions,” Jim asked curiously, “Who’re you on the run from?”

“Nobody.”

“Nobody. Come _on,_ man, you were hiding in a field in the middle of Fucking Nowhere, Iowa.”

“I was not hiding.”

Jim let out a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, rubbing his face over his hand. “Alright, be like that. Do you know where you’re going after here?”

Spock went silent. He would have to construct a cover story later, but he needed to orient himself with the situation first. Jim rolled his eyes next to him. “You’re lucky that this town is boring as hell and I’m a sucker for big brown eyes, that’s all I’ll say. Okay,” he cut himself off as he stared at the house. “My stepdad’s asleep. I’m gonna put you in the barn. Not gonna be luxurious, but there’s about 100% less aphids and rats. Actually, probably just aphids,” Jim corrected.

He was looking at Jim’s childhood home. Spock had never seen it before. But … was Jim not eighteen? From Jim’s stories of his stepfather, Spock had presumed that the man had left his home as soon as he was able to. He often described leaving for San Francisco as a sort of break for freedom. “You still live with your mother and father?”

Jim’s gaze suddenly turned severe. There was a fiery temper in his eyes, a sort of youthful violence, that Spock hadn’t seen before. He whirled around on his heel and stuck a finger in Spock’s general direction. “ _Step!”_ He corrected harshly. “Mom’s on Starfleet assignment. And he’s not – I mean – “ Jim couldn’t find the words and, disappointed, spun on his heel and continued to walk. “It’s just hard to leave Riverside if you don’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t know what I’d do, either. Don’t know what to tell you.”

The dim twilight had started to relax into actual dusk. Spock was more than aware of the _buzzing,_ all around them, what was this _buzzing_ – he realized it was bugs. He had heard it before, of course, but never quite so _loud._ Insects of all species buzzed around them, safe in their wheat field home, and Spock could look up at the stars.

How beautiful. In San Francisco, it had been admittedly difficult to see the galaxy yawning up above him. Even at night, enough lights were let on that the sky seemed empty and vast. Here, though, it was as if he were pressed up against the side of a starship, seeing a galaxy that was just within arm’s reach.

Had Jim acknowledged this? Had Jim stood on the _Enterprise_ observatory and looked outside, and noted – perhaps with disappointment, perhaps with familiar comfort – that he had a similar view in his very own hometown?

“It is hard to leave somewhere familiar,” Spock relayed, and Jim nodded in silent understanding. They approached the home. It seemed strangely empty. Doing some quick calculations in his head, Spock determined that if Jim was eighteen, then his elder brother Samuel was already out at a research colony. Jim had to have been living alone with his stepfather.

Jim didn’t speak of him very often, only to express his resentment. Spock knew there was no love lost, and that was all.

They skirted around the edge of the house until Spock saw the barn. “Do you keep animals?” He asked curiously. Jim had never mentioned.

Next to him, Jim snorted. “Not for years. My dad wanted to, eventually. When he bought the house with my mom – that was the plan. Then, you know, Starfleet.”

Spock certainly did understand “you know, Starfleet”. He was only grateful that, as Jim’s first officer, the chance was unlikely that they would be separated. Spock did not believe that writing _to separate Jim from me would be to cleave my heart in two_ would go over very well on an official Starfleet form.

The barn itself was musty and unused, but otherwise the structure was sturdy. “I stay in here a lot,” Jim muttered with a grunt as he climbed the ladder to a loft. “So I’ve got it all set up for visitors.”

“You stay in a barn?”

“I mean, I’ve got a bedroom. For, you know, when I bring people back. And Frank is kind of a cockblock.”

Spock paused on the ladder, watching as Jim pulled himself up and onto the loft. _Charming._ He was going to be resting where his future husband had slept with other people. Sighing, Spock continued to climb until he was on the loft. “Don’t worry, it’s clean. I’m not _that_ gross.”

He could only imagine. On the loft, he could see that Jim had set up a functional sleeping area. A cot was near the open window, to which Spock could peer out into … delightful, more wheat fields, it seemed that he would not ever run out of those. Still, there were books and some torn-apart electronics and a radio, as well as several empty liquor bottles. Spock’s heart fluttered when he saw a chess board in the corner – it was the most _Jim_ thing he had seen since he’d come into contact with this young man, and suddenly, Spock was faced with how much he missed his husband already. This man seemed to be another person entirely.

“This is kind of you,” Spock commented as he sat on the cot. He removed his robes, leaving him in just his tunic and long black pants. It was delicately folded and placed beside him. Some stubborn aphids crawled out; Spock responded by frowning and placing the garment on the floor. “For allowing me to stay. You do not know me.”

“Kind. _Okay,_ whatever,” Jim grunted. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall of the barn. “Let’s just say, when it comes to a town like Riverside and something _new_ comes around, you don’t pass up a chance. And Vulcan in the middle of a wheat field? That’s about as new as you can get, Selek.”

Spock was not going to argue with him. He sat cross-legged on the bed and took stock of his injuries, delicately probing his head. Nothing noticeable. The ache seemed to radiate deep within his mind, not caused by a fracture on the surface.

“So,” Jim asked conversationally, taking a half-empty bottle from the floor. “Can Vulcans really do a Vulcan death touch?”

Somewhat alarmed, Spock furrowed his eyebrows and stared at Jim silently.

“I _knew_ Jack was full of shit. I work at his dive bar and he told me that he had a Vulcan come around once that _totally_ did the Vulcan death touch after a couple too many.”

“There are several errors in that story.” Spock settled on the cot to look at Jim. Innocence danced in his eyes, eager for the truth. “Vulcans cannot become intoxicated by ethanol. Vulcans do not engage in violence. And a ‘Vulcan death touch’, as you say, does not exist.”

“ _Knew it!_ Damn.” The bottle was placed on the ground. “What can Vulcans be intoxicated by?”

Looking him dead in the eye, Spock replied with grave solemnity: “Chocolate.”

Jim burst out laughing, to the point where Spock was certain that the bottle would be shattered if he still held onto it. “Alright, now you’re just shitting me,” Jim sighed out as he wiped tears from his eyes. “But, fine. What do you do? For a living, I mean? Drugs? Roughing people up? Merc work?”

“I am a scientist,” Spock answered truthfully.

“Hm,” Jim considered. When Spock wouldn’t clarify further, he said, “That means you either found out something that other people didn’t want you to find out … _or,_ it’s totally drugs. Either way – kickass, man.”

Even if he was nothing more than a temporary source of amusement for Jim, it was somewhere to stay for the night. Spock crossed his legs and looked out the window. The moon peeked over the horizon, shining light on the fields below. This was where Jim had spent many years of his life, and Spock could not help but wonder where he was. His wellbeing. Again, he tried to reach across the bond, but he was confined to his own mind.

If Jim was in this time, he was not close by.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re not particularly chatty?”

Spock nodded.

“Come on. I saved your ass from that field _and_ gave you a place to stay. Tell me one cool story. Come on, please? You have _no_ idea what it’s like here.” Jim gestured with a wide sweep of his arm out the window. “That wheat field? Technically classified as the 7th hottest citizen of Riverside. That’s how dead it is here.”

Suddenly, the empty liquor bottles made some sense. Spock looked at Jim, in his hopeful face, and decided that … if it would even occur, now, what harm would be in telling Jim a story that would not occur for another decade or more?

“Very well,” Spock said. He closed his eyes and thought. “In one of the journeys of my vessel, we encountered a being known as the _Squire of Gothos.”_

Jim was sitting now, almost rapt in attention.

“I knew him formally as Trelane. He trapped most of my colleagues on his planet with him. He was a being of immense power, but no sense of purpose for it – cruel and selfish in all ways. We were able to determine that his power did not come from within himself, but a physical source. A mirror. My – “ Spock changed his tone. “A colleague of mine challenged him to a duel, a show of strength in order to destroy his power. He did destroy it, temporarily, but it enraged Trelane so that he swore he would destroy the entire crew.”

His eyes were wide, now, as he listened to Spock’s story. _And to think of all the details I’ve omitted,_ Spock thought to himself wryly. _I’ve completely dropped Scotty threatening to throttle the being over tasteless brandy._

“And what happened? What did you do?” Jim asked, hand over the bottle’s lip, now. He took a mindless sip.

“My colleague began to berate Trelane. As one would a child. And then his _parents_ arrived.”

“His _parents!?”_

“Indeed. They chastised him, bid him to apologize, and we were permitted to return to our ship.”

“You _have_ to be bullshitting me with that,” Jim groaned in complaint. “You _have_ to be.”

“Which do you find more unbelievable? A being of almost infinite power, or that such a being would possess ancestry?”

“Both! All!” Jim threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I’m calling bullshit. I bet Vulcans have a death touch, too.” He shut his eyes. “There’s just no way. How would your coworker even _know_ that would work?”

“I presume he did not. He rarely did,” Spock answered wryly. Despite himself, he could feel a faint smile growing on one side of his face. If this Jim only _knew._ There was something deeply amusing in this, though he did have to admit it was one of the more far-fetched of their adventures … though not by much.

Jim rolled his eyes and stood. “Sure. _Squire of Gothos._ I bet that’s just some Vulcan legend, to scare little Vulcan babies into behaving.” Still, he was nevertheless smiling at him. “But I think I know what you are.”

“Yes?”

“I think you’re a _con-man,_ Mr. Selek. Dunno for what yet. What you steal from people. But that’s totally your play. Bullshitting. Selek probably isn’t even your real name.”

Spock blinked up at Jim. He had heard that phrase before – not in so many words, and in an entirely different context, but suddenly, all he could picture was Jim’s warm face laying on his arm, murmuring, _well, Mr. Spock, it appears you’ve stolen my heart. What a con-man you are._

His own face fell at the memory, at the man who was no longer beside him. It would not be wise to grow too attached to this young man in front of him, Spock knew. That Jim saw so clearly through his ruse (even if he did not yet know the truth) should not have been surprising. Jim usually knew when he wasn’t telling the truth.

“I need to plan my next movements,” Spock advised quietly. He looked down at his own lap. Some meditation would not be amiss, either. “If you would grant me some silence?”

“Yeah. I’m meeting up with some friends at Jack’s Bar. Don’t worry, I’ll keep out of the barn if I find someone,” Jim teased, already heading back towards the ladder. He climbed down the first few rungs. “You sleep well, okay, Mr. Selek? And, whatever you do – “ His head darted towards the direction of the family house, face growing serious. “For your own good, man. Don’t go in the house.”

Then, Jim was gone. He heard his soft footfalls, the creak of the barn door as it opened, and then Spock was lit only by moonlight and heard by nobody.

An ominous warning, though Spock understood why. Spock knew very little of Frank’s character but understood him not to be a particularly good man. He was not going to cause a commotion, now. Too risky, could irrevocably harm Jim’s future. No, he would remain in the barn and think about what to do.

He had been sent back in time. Temporal phenomena of some kind. And, as far as this current year went, temporal phenomena had only occurred once before, in the same incident that killed Jim’s father. They had not realized it yet, but nevertheless, scientists had poured over the sensor readings from that incident for decades – up until it occurred a second time when he had only just met Jim’s acquaintance.

Spock knew that scientists had been pouring over the sensor readings, even if that information was technically classified. He knew that because he had been one of them.

In Starfleet Academy, he had temporarily worked in a laboratory that studied those readings – most notably, attempting to mimic and recreate them so that they could understand what had caused the Kelvin Incident, exactly.

At the time, it was because they suspected a highly advanced cloaking device that could cause the downfall of the Federation.

It was only now that Spock realized how foolish their endeavor had been. They had been tinkering with temporal technology, a newborn discipline even if Spock’s time. If they hadn’t been careful, they could’ve destroyed not only the lab – but Starfleet Academy as a whole.

And that was where Spock had to return. As far as Spock knew, that was the only location in the entire galaxy that could recreate circumstances necessary for time travel. He didn’t have a ghost of a chance anywhere else. His expertise in the area would help him – he just had to get to San Francisco, from Iowa.

The rough logistics of the plan started to come together in his scientific mind. Even if he had no idea how he would get there, Spock felt as if it were his best chance.

It was useless to worry about Jim’s whereabouts now, if he had even been transported back in time. Spock worried nonetheless. _You must return back to your own time as quickly as possible, or else you might completely ruin the future,_ Spock told himself sternly. _To waste time trying to find him, when he could be anywhere in this time’s galaxy – send yourself back, take stock of what occurred, and then you can investigate the matter._

Leaning back on the bed, Spock tried to remember if he, in the year 2251, had enrolled in the Kelvin Lab yet. It was surprisingly difficult to recall. _In the year 2251,_ Spock focused, _You were twenty years of age, enrolled in your second year of Starfleet Academy. Which means …_

Spock recoiled on the loft’s cot, already cringing at himself.

_Oh, no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for the first update! Thanks all for reading.


	3. San Francisco, 2251

Jim woke up just as the bass dropped.

The house music was so loud that he felt the walls of the club bathroom vibrate. There was no guessing about where he was – only club bathrooms, which he’d gotten _very_ familiar with during his time at the Academy, could reach this particular intersection of humid and filthy. He was on his hands and knees on the floor, unable to tell if he was trembling or simply vibrating along with the music.

His question was answered when he tried to stand. No, he was definitely trembling. Every part of him. He leaned against the bathroom stall. _Hey, at least there’s a toilet here if you have to upchuck,_ Jim thought to himself optimistically. The downbeat thudded against his ears, and Jim closed his eyes with a groan. _Make it stop, please._ This was hell. Jim had died and went to hell and this is what hell was.

“Ugh. They always play this song,” An unknown voice complained just outside the stall. Jim wobbled on his feet and listened. They were pissing into a urinal. _Great._ “And, look! This dumb mirror’s been broken for weeks and nobody’s gotten it fixed. Remind me why we come here again?”

The other voice let out a non-committal grunt. “Good drinks and easy Starfleet cadets?” Jim heard the sound of a zipper being zipped, followed by another.

“You’re not wrong.” Jim heard the pair finish washing their hands and leave the bathroom. As the door slid shut behind him, Jim was more confident that he was alone. The world still spun around his feet.

Everything came rushing back to him. The shuttle. The tractor beam. _Spock._ “Spock,” Jim muttered, peering underneath the stall divider to see if his husband happened to be suffering next to him – then again, Spock would’ve made himself known before now. Nothing. Spock wasn’t in the bathroom.

Shit. He had to find his husband.

Where the hell _was_ he? Jim could understand that it was a club, of course: the noise gave it away. Jesus, the song was trying to etch itself onto his eardrum, it felt like. The pair by the urinals had mentioned Starfleet cadets. That narrowed it down to either the Academy or a starbase, and Jim wasn’t sure which was even more plausible. God, he hoped he wasn’t at Starfleet Academy – it would take _weeks_ to get back to the _Enterprise._

He wasn’t going to find any answers inside of a bathroom stall. Jim placed both of his hands against his eyesockets to steel his nerve.

 _Your club days are long over,_ Jim thought to himself whimsically. Although Jim couldn’t recall any occasions where he’d passed out in a club bathroom, he had definitely found himself in there intertwined with someone on more than one occasion. Passing out occurred later, either onto someone’s bed or in the comfort of his own bathroom, thank you very much. He couldn’t put into words how much he preferred synthehol.

As he put his hand on the stall door to open it, Jim caught a glance of his wedding band reflecting in the light. _How times ha_ _ve_ _changed. Spock, I’m going to get you, baby._ And he would, as soon as he figured out where the hell he was.

He stepped out of the bathroom stall to go and inspect himself in the mirror, where he was struck by a frighteningly familiar sight.

The mirror was, as the club patrons had said, broken. More to the point, it was broken in an intricate spiderweb pattern that almost precisely reflected the viewscreen of the shuttle Jim had just been blown up in.

That, at least, was confirmation enough that this wasn’t some weird post-death hallucination - unless Death had a really weird sense of humor.

And definitely not what ‘life after death’ meant, because he would be _damned_ if he’d spend a second of his afterlife not attached at the hip with his bondmate. He gave an honest attempt to send an emotion over the bond but felt nothing in return. He wasn’t even sure if it had gone through. He wasn’t sure if that was how bonds _worked._

The damn bond was so _tricky,_ even at the best of times. Jim tried, _hard,_ at trying to master it, but he was a psi-null species. Sometimes it felt like trying to keep water in his hands. He worried that Spock blamed himself for the bond’s limitations, and it was hard for him to express that absolutely _nothing_ in the world would make him cherish Spock any less. Their bond didn’t carry all the advantages bonds normally did – so what? Jim couldn’t think of anyone he’d want to be with _half_ as much as he wanted to be with Spock. Being psi-null himself, he hadn’t expected to have a bond at all.

Either way, he felt nothing across it. Jim was pretty sure that Spock had told him, once, that he would be able to feel the bond break if he died. Was that a reasonable certainty that Spock was still alive, wherever he was? Or with Jim being psi-null, maybe he wouldn’t feel anything anyway?

No. Letting himself fall into panic now would help nobody, and he had to take action. He had to figure out what the hell was going on, and then he’d find his husband. Presume alive until found dead.

Jim looked at himself in the cracked mirror and marveled at how hungover he looked, mussy hair and all. The bags under his eyes loomed large. _Good,_ he told himself tiredly. _I look like an old fuck who goes out and tries to pick up cadets._ He placed a hand on the door and pushed.

In front of him was a sea of cadets. Or, at least, he could only presume from the occasional flash of the Starfleet logo against the lights. The club was _dark._ Occasionally, a whirling green or purple flashing light would hover by, shedding light, but Jim was positive that the relative darkness of the club was intentional. Above it all was the steady, rhythmic thump of the bass. From a Captain’s standpoint, it was a strategic nightmare.

This type of plsvr hadn’t been his cup of tea during the Academy. Jim had went to loud clubs before, sure, but he preferred being able to hear his own thoughts – and schmoozing beautiful people only worked if they could actually hear you. That had been Jim’s element.

The beat did nothing to help his head. Groaning in pain, Jim stumbled away from the crowd towards the bar. It was slightly more isolated, but more importantly, the overhead lights by the bartender granted him a little more illumination. He wasn’t even sure what his plan was, beyond _getting out._

Noise of another kind was coming from the bar, though. Jim winced and looked to see what appeared to be a bar fight brewing up ahead. God, during his Academy days, they always seemed like they’d come out of nowhere. With his years, though, Jim could see just how predictable it all was.

Bar fights were more his speed. How many times had he both started and ended shit at Jack’s bar in Riverside? Up until Jack, probably for his own good, had tossed him out on his ass and said he couldn’t bartend there anymore. It didn’t bother him. If there was one thing Riverside had enough of, it was bars. And wheat. But bars had more recreational appeal.

“Hey,” Jim started, but it only came out as a gritted mutter. His head _hurt._ He looked down the line of the bar. Several people were crouched over their drinks. Andorian, Betazoid, Human, someone with a dark hood, Orion, someone passed out on top of the bar surface. None of them seemed to notice the commotion going on behind them all.

A Terellian was holding his arms up, all four of them, in what appeared to be a galactically universal ‘come and get it’ gesture. His coloring was a rough sort of dark orange that reminded Jim of rotten fruit, and Jim noticed that his skin became patchier and scalier as it reached down his arms. Each hand had no more than three fingers, though with four hands, Jim figured he clocked in with more of an advantage than most Humans did. Each arm was thick to bursting with muscle and tendons.

In front of him was a small battalion of Andorians – four blue-skinned individuals, nostrils flaring and fists clenching. Their antennae twitched in alarm. The Terellian was a least two heads taller than all of them, but there were _four_ Andorians. Jim wasn’t sure if either side had the advantage here. It read like a thought experiment in the Academy. He took a step forward; they didn’t seem to notice him.

“Were you looking at _me?”_ The Terellian slurred. Oh, great. If there was anything better than four arms, it was four arms connected to a drunk brain. “Didn’t do _nothin’_ to you.”

“Which eye am I looking at!” The Andorian bit, sharp and acrid as the first one advanced. “You took my friend’s drink!”

“I didn’t take _anything._ Your friend is _drunk.”_

 _You’re all drunk. You’re all so, so fucking drunk,_ Jim told himself in the back of his mind, but he could see where it was going. It wasn’t a surprise when the Andorian in the back lurched forward, slamming his fist right into the Terellian’s chest. The Terellian didn’t do so much as budge, but the fight was on.

Two of the Andorians surged forward to pin the Terellian’s arms, while one seemed content to try to literally wring his neck. And, as the Terellian yelled in anger, Jim saw that the other bar patrons were noticing.

If there was anything drunk Starfleet cadets were good at, it was getting into trouble. And all of these _stupid assholes_ were wearing their _goddamn uniforms._ Getting into bar fights themselves were stupid – getting into bar fights _while wearing the Starfleet insignia_ made Jim angry in a way that he imagined only old men could feel.

All it took was for one of the Andorians to grab a glass bottle off the bar and _smash_ it against the side. It shattered into pieces, giving the alien a very utilitarian shank. His eyes lit up like he hadn’t quite expected that to work in his favor. The sound of the glass shattering against the bar had a second purpose, though – causing the entire bar area to erupt into bedlam.

It was chaos. The boundaries of the fight were unclear, and Jim saw some cadets previously uninvolved with the fight start to attack one another. The smashing of the glass had erupted like a shot, triggering more than one person’s fight-or-flight. _Booze is one hell of a thing,_ Jim noted in wonder, and was silently grateful that he had outgrown _this_ phase of his life (though he got into scuffles on the job more often than he, or his husband, really wanted).

Situation be damned. Jim wasn’t sure if this was real, wasn’t sure if this was some weird dream or a dying neuron’s last fire, but he was a _goddamn adult_ _in a room full of children._

“Hey!” Jim yelled above the din, trying to yell above the music and the fighting. Where the hell was security for this place? He knew Starfleet bars could have lax security (with the laughable expectation that Starfleet cadets were mature and wouldn’t _start shit),_ but this was ridiculous. This _had_ to be a fire code violation, at the very minimum. “ _Hey, hey, hey! What the hell is going on here!?”_

If anybody heard him, they didn’t respond. Jim couldn’t blame them; he could hardly hear _himself_ over the noise. They continued fighting, all around him. Jim could hear the occasional sound of a fist connecting or a shout of pain. The Terellian let out a large roar and raised his arms. Two Andorians dangled from either side, their legs kicking futilely in the air. Jim watched as the Andorian with the broken bottle moved forward.

 _That_ wasn’t going to happen. That could turn a bad night into the end of a life too fast. Jim stepped forward and put a hand on the Andorian’s arm, squeezing it tightly. “ _Hey,”_ he urged seriously. “You could really hurt a guy with that. Why don’t we just put it down?”

Maybe, if they were in a professional capacity, he would’ve listened to him. Jim realized with a bolt of shame that he had gotten used to people in Starfleet uniforms _listening_ to him. Especially goddamn _cadets._

As it was, the Andorian was young, drunk, and full of what Jim could only presume to be unjustified anger. At least the Andorian didn’t stab him, even if it was only because Jim was gripping the arm with the bottle. He did, however, whip his other arm around to punch Jim directly in the throat. It connected like a freight train.

The punch was more than he was expecting, especially given how badly his head was hurting already. He stumbled backward from it, hand pawing at his throat, before his boot slipped on something wet on the floor. He could only hope it was booze.

Jim lost his balance and fell on his back. His head cracked against the floor and Jim hissed in pain, rolling halfway onto his side. Even that motion was too much, and Jim moved to his back. His eyes opened to see the ceiling. Various bright lights swam in his vision, and he couldn’t tell what were from his brain and what were from the club’s overhead system.

 _Oh, Spock,_ Jim thought, in pain and in exhausted, _what the hell is going on? What have I gotten myself into?_

A shadow fell over his body. The Andorian wasn’t done with him yet and loomed over him, his shadow massive. Jim put one hand up in surrender. He only saw the Andorian’s wrist flex around the bottle. _Holy shit, man, I call uncle._ _Back off._

Behind him, Jim saw the hooded man at the bar shift and stand from his barstool. His attention quickly returned towards the advancing Andorian man, because hey, this guy had a broken bottle and the hood guy didn’t. He kicked one leg up and pressed it against his chest, preventing him from getting any closer with the broken shards of glass. “ _You’re a goddamn Starfleet cadet!”_ Jim hissed through his teeth, half-in shock. Even if Jim had gotten into a lot of bar fights, he’d never threatened someone with a weapon. There was something more noble and less hideously stupid about using your bare fists. “ _Act with some dignity!”_

The Andorian responded by swiping at his leg with the bottle. It cut clear through his pants and slashed his calf. Jim cried out in pain, yanking his leg back. The wound wasn’t deep, but _what the fuck, man._

A gloved hand appeared over the Andorian’s shoulder. It was the hooded man. In the darkness of the club, Jim couldn’t see any other defining features. The inside of the hood revealed nothing but darkness. Still, the hand took the Andorian’s shoulder, just brushing against the crook of his neck. Even if the figure moved quickly, there was a certain precision to his movements. The fingers found the pinchpoint on the neck, but didn’t press down.

Alarmed by the hand on his shoulder, the Andorian turned around. The hooded figure decked him in the face.

Jim’s eyes widened as he toppled to the side, hands going to cover his nose. The bottle clattered to the floor, breaking into uselessness, and the Andorian glared over at the stranger. Blood was starting to seep through his cupped hands.

The stranger said nothing, remaining perfectly still. Jim quietly hoped that the Andorian wasn’t stupid or drunk enough to start something with _him,_ because that guy clearly had one hell of a right hook. He put his foot on the floor and tried to push himself up. It was going to take a while, now with the new burning pain in his leg. _Fucking ow._ Jim winced hard and got on one knee.

Staring at the hooded person, the Andorian finally decided that, without his weapon, he was outmatched. He scowled and turned away. It wasn’t hard to vanish into the brawling crowd – though, even now, it was hard to see who was dancing and who was actively trying to hurt one another. Soon, all that was left of his presence was a singular, shattered glass bottle. The stranger turned to look down at him silently.

“Thanks,” Jim told him, but he knew it was functionally inaudible. The stranger extended his gloved hand to him. Jim noticed that he was wearing a _hell_ of a lot of black.

The gloves were black cotton, his ripped jacket was black polyester, his tight jeans were black denim, and black boots that clearly gave him an inch or two in height. _Weird. I didn’t think platform boots were in style_ _anymore_ _._ He got a good look on the boots from his spot on the ground, anyway, saw how the laces were tied with almost scientific exactness.

Jim took his hand, offering the extended help. As he did so, the stranger reached for his hood to push it back over his shoulders. What occurred in the next fifteen seconds happened in one fluid movement, though as soon as he saw who was in the hood, it was like the world had stopped for one James Tiberius Kirk.

It was Spock.

Spock, with shaggy, greasy hair that was pulled back from his head in a low ponytail. His fringe was haphazard and choppy, half-stuck to his forehead with sweat, nearly covering his eyes. A thin beard had sprouted all over his pale face, looking more unkempt than casual. And … was he wearing goddamn _eyeliner?_ It wasn’t _good_ eyeliner, either, it had badly smudged, given Spock a look that was roughly akin to an alleyway raccoon. He hadn’t known Spock to wear makeup _ever._

Maybe he’d somehow been transported to the future? A future where Spock lost his goddamn mind from grief, apparently, rather than let himself be seen in such a sloppy state. But, no – and he could only tell because he’d watched Spock’s face, so many times, had memorized every laugh line and worry mark. How many nights had he propped his head up on his head and simply watched Spock meditate, his eyes flickering quickly beneath their lids, more relaxed than he’d ever seen him? How his breathing slowed so much as to be nearly imperceptible?

The differences were small, but Jim saw them – in his jaw, in his eyes, in the way he held himself. This was not the future, but he was beginning to get the idea that it might’ve been the past. This Spock was young. _Way_ younger than his husband.

How _old_ was this guy?

Spock continued helped him up to his full feet. Before Jim could even utter out a word of thanks, his other arm wrapped around Jim’s waist, and he was suddenly being pulled in for a kiss by a younger version of his bondmate.

It was not an exceptionally … skilled kiss, all things considered.

The Vulcan’s tongue awkwardly pressed against Jim’s closed lips before pulling away, staring at Jim with what Jim suspected was _supposed_ to be a seductive look. As it happened, it looked a lot more like Spock was trying to chew off his own bottom lip. The kiss had lasted about a half-second, and was over before Jim _really_ classified it as a ‘kiss’.

If Jim wasn’t still reeling from this exceptionally weird situation he’d been placed in, he would’ve laughed. Jim watched Spock with wide-eyes, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Maybe this _wasn’t_ Spock. It was hard to imagine _any_ universe where Spock, _his_ Spock, would willingly go to a dance club, punch a man, kiss a stranger, and let himself be seen less than _perfectly_ composed in public. Had he been transported to an alternate timeline? If so, Jim had _no_ idea how he was going to get back. He couldn’t say for certain whether this Earth operated by _any_ of the same rules as his Earth. If Vulcans could act like this, there was no hope for the rest of the galaxy, was there?

“Come with me,” Spock breathed, just an inch or two away from his face. His arm was still wrapped around his back, the other still clasping Jim’s hand. Jim was faced with a decision – depart with this strange, alternative Spock, or try and figure it out on his own.

Well. He always worked better with his first officer at his side, didn’t he? Even if he was looking a little … _different._ Besides, Jim figured he had little left to lose. He gave a quick, curt nod and just hoped that Spock wasn’t dragging him somewhere to kill him. All cards were on the table now.

As Spock started to guide him by the hand through the crowd, Jim touched his lips with his free hand. _That_ had been weird. Jim wasn’t even sure if it counted as a kiss, more of a poorly-skilled lick. His head still hurt, too, and being half-dragged by Spock didn’t exactly help with his coordination. Better that than not being led anywhere at all, though. Soon enough, they reached the front exit of the club. Spock stuck his hand out to hail a taxi.

Jim looked around them. No, this definitely wasn’t a starbase, and his worse suspicion was confirmed. This was … San Francisco, about the same as he remembered it from back in his Academy days. He hadn’t had much opportunity to come back and visit. Jim looked around, stunned. Even the sky was the same – completely devoid of stars, as if Earth was the only chunk of rock in the universe. The only place a guy could get a half-decent view of them was in the Starfleet Academy observatory, or with a personal telescope. And sometimes he had – he’d drag Bones or whoever he was seeing at the time to the top of his apartment building and try and get a glimpse. It was funny, really. Riverside was always _awash_ in stars.

He was being pulled again, almost knocking him off balance. Vulcan strength clearly hadn’t changed in this universe. A taxi had arrived, and Spock was trying to guide him into the backseat. “Where are we going?” Jim asked, blinking a couple of times to orient himself. He hadn’t even thought to ask, but it hit him that – married to this man in the future or no – he _was_ being led out of this club by a total stranger.

“My apartment. Or – “ Spock considered, sliding into the cab. Jim took the seat next to him. He was still unwilling to separate himself from Spock, because despite it all – despite this situation – well, there still had to be some trace of the guy that Jim would trust with anything. _Surely._ “Or yours? If you wanted?”

_Oh._

Suddenly, everything made sense, and Jim called himself stupid for not realizing it earlier. He was usually _great_ at picking up seductive maneuvers. _He’d_ been picked up at a club before, and he had picked other people up. But this was _Spock,_ and while Spock could be pretty damn seductive when he wanted to be, Spock also didn’t … pick people up at clubs. It just wasn’t in his nature. Clubs weren’t in his nature, in general.

“Oh. Um, yours is fine?” Jim asked, wildly uncertain for the first time in a long, long while. He stretched his hands out on his knees, cupping his kneecaps and not focusing on the pain in his leg. Spock’s apartment would have some sort of replicator, he hoped, so that he could patch that wound up. It was time to think of a _gentle_ way to let his not-husband know that he wasn’t going to sleep with him. Jim blinked to himself, trying not to fall into the mental trap of thinking _this is crazy, this is insane, what the fuck_ over and over. “Yours is fine.”

Spock nodded and gave an address to the driver that Jim didn’t recognize. There was an awkward pause before, as if he’d just recalled lines to his part in a play, Spock snapped back into action. He slid over to Jim’s seat and placed a hand on his shirt, on his stomach, as he approached Jim in the back of the cab. “Dirty.” Spock cooed, more of a question than a comment, and Jim realized he was referring to the mud streaks on the front of his shirt. Already, the soccer match seemed so far away.

Spock’s hands were _warm_ inside of his glove; Jim could tell from the way he brushed over his ribcage. Vulcan body temperatures were lower than a human by a few degrees; Spock’s skin often had a strange clamminess to it. Spock’s hands were rarely freezing cold, but they were never that _warm._ Was Spock wearing heated gloves? Was Spock warming his hands? _Why?_

That question died in his mind. He had more important things to be concerned about – mostly, Spock’s hand inching around his shirt. _He’s not very good at the whole picking people up thing, is he?_ _He’s coming off as more ‘I’m going to slice you up for the deli’ than ‘let’s fuck’._ Jim thought, bringing up a hand to cover Spock’s jacketed wrist.

“I … don’t mean to kill the mood, but I think you’ve gotten the wrong idea here.”

Spock’s face fell in an expression that Jim recognized all-too-well. _I’ve done it wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. I’m a failure._ Breaking eye contact, Spock’s eyes fell until they were resting on Jim’s hand. Something clearly clicked in his brain.

“You’re married.” It was an accusation and a point of fact.

Spock’s eyes were glued to Jim’s ring finger, which was currently curled around his wrist. He nodded uneasily. “Uh-huh. Pretty happily, so …” Jim trailed off, uncertain of how to finish before trilling his lips. “Yeah.”

The Vulcan’s hand yanked back as if Jim had set it alight. The cab’s atmosphere took a _very_ awkward turn. Spock looked stunned and stared straight ahead as the taxi hovered along. Jim spared a glance out the window.

“In my defense, usually you’re supposed to make more small talk before whisking people –”

At the same time, Spock turned to him and broke in with, “I’m sorry, I thought I made my motivations very clear – “

They both stopped and stared at one another, and Jim offered Spock a small smile. “You go.”

Spock gave Jim a wave in his direction and attempted to turn back towards the window. “No. I have invaded enough of your time and space.”

There were a thousand questions that Jim needed to ask. Seeing Spock’s profile, he could clearly see that the man’s low ponytail was getting to be a little frizzy and greasy. He had _facial hair!_ For the first few months of their working relationship, Jim had thought Vulcans didn’t even _grow_ facial hair. Hehad eyeliner that had clearly started to irritate his eyes, as the corners of his were a vivid green. Euch. Looked painful.

 _He_ _really had to try to look like that_ _,_ Jim realized with a start.

“I’m flattered. Seriously, I’m not offended or hurt or angry or … anything, but I wouldn’t recommend making a habit out of this,” Jim told him, reaching over and giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. Spock flinched away. He had his arms crossed over his chest – not out of annoyance, but rather as if he was trying to make himself look quite small. “And thanks back there, for taking out that Andorian. Does that place _always_ get that crazy?”

“No. Yes,” Spock corrected himself uncertainly. “It was … my first time there. But it has a reputation for that.”

“Oh. Same,” Jim agreed with him. Spock sent him a curious look. “First time there, I mean.”

“You’re older. Why would you attend a club whose primary audience is Starfleet cadets if not to engage in inter – “ Spock stopped himself and changed his verbiage. “If not to screw them?”

Jim snorted before he could really help himself and passed it off as a sneeze. That was the first time that he had _ever_ heard Spock say ‘screw’ in the sexual sense. Jim had to re-orient himself with _that_ scrap of knowledge before answering. “I don’t know. I just woke up in the bathroom.”

“You woke up? But you aren’t intoxi – drunk.”

Leaning back in the cab, Jim folded his arms behind his head. “Yeah. Uh, it’s a condition. Can I ask you a question?”

Spock nodded primly, almost pressed against his own door of the taxi.

“What year is it?”

That clearly hadn’t been the question Spock was expecting. Though Jim hadn’t entirely crossed out ‘alternate universe’ yet, he had to admit that San Francisco looked _identical_ to his own. They passed by a sandwich shop that Jim used to study for astrophysics in. A coffee shop that one of Jim’s old boyfriends had been in. The path he took when he was running away from police after a particularly wild party.

“2251.”

“Great. Thanks.” 2251. Taking for granted that this _was_ his timeline, then Jim Kirk was eighteen years old. Which made Spock, if this _was_ Spock, 20. Huh. Strange to think of Spock being in Starfleet Academy while Jim was languishing away, being an impulsive screwball, hundreds of miles away.

He tried to think of what he knew of twenty-year-old Spock and came up with very little. Hell, he knew very little of nineteen or twenty-one-year-old Spock, either. Spock didn’t share much of his history with Jim. Not, Jim thought, in a purposeful way. Spock just rarely talked about anything non-work related unless prompted. It’d led to more than a few squabbles between them.

If Jim had thought _this_ had been Spock’s past, he would’ve prompted a _lot_ more. He found himself staring at Spock with wide eyes. His _hair_ was greasy. His clothing was tight and ripped. He had tried to _pick someone up_ like he was in the middle of a goddamn coming-of-age teen romance _._

What had _happened_ between then and when they had met? Did Spock need to _talk_ to someone? Had Spock been hiding a wildly traumatic experience from him for all these years? Though – knowing Spock, it was unlikely to be _hiding_ rather than _didn’t come up._

“If you have a head injury,” Spock urged, “You should go to a clinic.”

 _Yeah. Not a chance. I’m not going to a clinic and risk people recognizing me._ Maybe he was eighteen and in Riverside, Iowa right now, but people knew George Kirk – and they might start asking questions, especially if they found him in the Starfleet system of records. A few of Jim’s preliminary medical records were there, before he’d gotten shipped off to Riverside permanently.

“No, no,” Jim argued against that. He waved Spock off, leaning his head against the window and trying to look like he _didn’t_ have a head injury. “No clinic. I just need to sleep it off; I’ll be okay. This happens sometimes.”

When he cracked his eyes open again, he saw that Spock was looking at him with undisguised concern. It made Jim’s heart prickle. “You may sleep it off at my apartment, if you prefer. We are coming up to it, and I must tend the wound in your leg. An apology – “ Again, Spock stopped to correct himself. “I’m sorry for kissing you without discussing everything with you. I had copied my mannerisms off a romance holovid, and I see now it doesn’t correlate well to actual human practices.”

“Don’t worry about it. People are suppressing the urge to kiss me all the time, look at me.” Jim mumbled by way of joke. As Spock said the words, the taxi slowed to a stop. He got out and stared up at the apartments. Starfleet standard issue. Spock would’ve been in his second year of the Academy, so that made sense that he wasn’t chucked into a dormitory with an old roommate. God, Spock with a _roommate._ “But I’ll take your couch, if you’ve got it.” He needed to just … rest his head for a second, before he made a plan.

Spock went ahead of Jim to open the building door. Jim wasn’t even trying to disguise his pain anymore, instead rubbing at the base of his skull and limping from the cut on his leg. If this was time travel, it was a pain in the ass. He’d time traveled before with _much_ fewer side effects.

“Do you need me to call someone? Your spouse?” Spock asked in concern, and for some reason –

Jim started to laugh.

He boarded the turbolift with Spock and just started to _lose his shit,_ laughing as he propped himself against the corner wall. This was just _too_ weird. Too fucking weird to even wrap his head around. The skyline of San Francisco blurred in his eyes as they started to water, and Jim pressed his palm to his eyes to dry them.

“No,” he eventually got out between the tears, pressing the heels of his palm against his eyes to calm himself down. “No. Yeah, don’t call him. He’s gonna be _so_ pissed that a cadet tried to pick me up, you don’t even know.” Jim thought that was _hilarious,_ but he was aware he’d just told an inside joke to a man who had no idea.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Spock looked intimidated. Scared, even. Poor guy. Jim flashed him a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve gotten into worse situations. Let’s just say he has the patience of a saint.”

Coy jokes only worked when more than one person was in on them. Jim nevertheless thought it was very funny as they stepped off the lift and continued to quietly chuckle to himself about it. Spock waved his hand in front of the door to engage the doorlock, and stepped inside.

It seemed … very human. There were textbooks stacked haphazardly on the coffee table. A blanket thrown over the back of a worn-out sofa. A TV. A normal kitchen, Jim could see fruit stacked in a bowl. It wasn’t _messy,_ per se, but rather lived-in. Jim saw a few old stains on the kitchenware that would’ve drove Spock up a wall. Above all, there was none of the Vulcan touches that he’d come to expect from Spock. Before they moved in together, Jim had often remarked that Spock’s quarters felt more like a museum than an actual bedroom.

There was nothing here. No artifacts. Not even photos on the wall. Instead, Jim saw a poster advertising a concert in the near future and a large _United Federation of Planets_ flag pinned above the couch.

“You have a nice place,” Jim complimented. He shuffled inside and sat on the couch, examining around. It was … cold. Colder than he expected a Vulcan’s lodgings to be, though when he looked at the thermostat, it was seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit. It was as if Spock had broken into a human’s apartment and passed it off as his own. Jim ran his hands over his shoulders.

Spock took off his jacket, revealing a thin black tank top. He realized that his gloves extended all the way up his arms to his shoulders. The only exposed skin was from the neck up, and the rips in his jeans. His heavy boots clunked on the floor as he busied himself around the kitchen. That … sort of made sense, Jim supposed, but he’d never known Spock to be so wildly opposed to even inadvertently activating his touch telepathy.

“Allow me to – “ Spock stopped himself and started again. “Let me check if your head’s okay and bandage up your leg. I don’t want you dying on my couch … man.”

 _What the hell._ Jim looked up at him, stunned, before coughing out a confused affirmative. Spock approached him, took his wallet out of his pants, and crouched in front of the couch. From here, Jim could see … a _condom_ on the inside of his wallet, and blinked a few times.

It wasn’t like he expected Spock to not have a life before him, but this seemed so fundamentally _opposite_ of the man he knew. They’d never talked about Spock’s previous dating life before. Jim only knew of his relationship with Uhura and how badly the physical part of their dating life had fizzled. He hadn’t asked Spock if he had any previous sexual partners, but he had _kind_ of assumed Spock was a virgin. That hadn’t bothered him – nor would Spock having a thousand partners bother him. Spock certainly didn’t know about Jim’s dating life, and probably assumed that he was the wild playboy that everyone had pictured him as. Truth was, Jim always had a tendency to fall hard and fast, but a toxic cocktail of trust issues and secrecy usually made things fail before they could really get started.

It hadn’t been relevant, so he hadn’t asked about Spock’s history, but he had his assumptions.

Now, Jim was forced to confront the idea that maybe those assumptions were wrong. His eyes were drawn to Spock’s legs.

Those were definitely the pants of a guy who fucked.

Spock reached forward to delicately probe at his head for injury. Jim was vividly reminded of Spock doing so on the football field of the starbase – had it really only been less than a few hours ago? Already, Jim felt like it was a lifetime. God, the touch had been gentle but exacting, a wordless expression of _what did you do to yourself now, darling._ His eyes slid shut as he tried not to let himself miss his husband. Enigmatic past or not, Jim always felt somehow incomplete without him – like someone was shining a light with no shadow.

When Spock finished checking at his head, he delicately rolled Jim’s pant legs up to tend to the scratch there. The bandage was rolled around Jim’s calf. Wouldn’t exactly heal like a trip to the clinic would, but it wasn’t that severe of a wound to begin with. More of a scratch by a drunken Andorian cadet than anything traumatic. Jim marveled at how Spock refused to take his gloves off but still had a good amount of dexterity.

No, he had to focus on the task at hand. He had to rest and think and, most importantly, formulate a _plan_ about how the hell he’d get out of there.

“You should be fine,” Spock commented, standing back up again. Jim looked up at him gratefully. “If you need something, check the kitchen. Take whatever you prefer.” This close, Jim got the idea that Spock was exhausted, too. The green irritation around his hands was growing worse. “I’m going to bed. We’ll talk in the morning about our cover story for your husband.”

Damn, he didn’t think Spock had ever been cool enough to think of a _cover story_ for taking a _married man_ home.

“Yeah. Thanks, man. My name’s Jim, by the way. Go on, I know you probably want to meditate before bed.” Spock preferred doing that. Jim didn’t know how essential sleep was for a Vulcan – but he’d known Spock to go without it for long stretches of time, before, so long as he could meditate. It was actually sort of impressive.

That was, evidently, the _wrong_ thing to say.

Spock leaned up, and Jim had realized that he’d been partially slouching before. This posture, ramrod straight as it was, seemed more natural to him. He remembered Spock once telling him about how Vulcan spines were less prone to curvature than Human ones, and he’d had to be specifically taught on how to keep his posture straight in childhood. Posture had come naturally for the other Vulcan children.

It had made him sad, and he’d made sure to offer his services as a back masseuse to Spock a lot more often after that.

“How did you know I was Vulcan?” Spock asked, voice shuddering like it was a dirty word. _Vvvvvvulcan._ He was turned away to Jim.

Jim realized with a shock that … realistically, he probably shouldn’t have been able to tell. Spock’s ears were hidden in his hair - the fringe covered the characteristic Vulcan feature. Spock had been holding himself like a human – _talking,_ even, like a human. Or at least giving it a damn good shot.

_Fuck._

“Your eyes,” Jim muttered as he laid down on the couch, trying to keep as casual as possible. “They’re, uh, a little green. I think your makeup?”

“I see. Thank you.” A beat pause. “Spock.”

“Nice to meet you, Spock. Have a good night.” Jim half-curled up on his side, resting his head on a pillow. From here, he could open his eyes just a slit to watch the young Vulcan. Spock hesitated in the hallway for some moments, before he went to the kitchen on the other side of the room.

A vial of something dark was taken out of the fridge, and a bottle of something clear – _rum, and a damn strong one, too._ Spock poured the dark vial into the clear liquid and mixed it somberly. He knocked back a long drink.

Spock, drinking _rum?_ Spock hated the taste of ethanol. Even synthehol was distasteful to him. He often refused to kiss Jim unless he had a mint after he’d drank a little from it, complaining it made Jim taste too much of the science laboratories. It was unclear whether this Spock’s opinion had changed much, given the grimace he pulled after he pulled the bottle away from his lips.

Spock’s shoulders slumped. His eyes glanced over at Jim, who quickly shut his own. It seemed like he was safe for now. He heard Spock shuffle over, retrieve his wallet, and began to walk back to his room. Jim opened his eyes to see that he still had the bottle in his grasp.

As soon as Spock’s bedroom door slid shut behind him, Jim rolled over to his back and stared at the ceiling. _Holy shit._ He knew that he had his own life to think about, his own time to get back to, but he let himself worry about this strange Vulcan for a little while.

Spock had never told him about this period of his life before, and Jim was starting to see why. He was weird, but more than that, he seemed like he was following an _act._ He seemed _unhappy._ He seemed like he was desperately unhappy. But moreover ...

He seemed like he didn’t want to be a Vulcan at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a big boy.   
>  I realize this take on Spock is borderline bizarro, but I always wished that the movies/shows/something focused on how traumatic it would've been for Spock to leave Vulcan, reject his father, and take up roots on Earth all because he was partially Human. And I like to think a part of Spock thought - fine, then I'll /be/ human.   
> Thanks all for reading and the comments/kudos!


	4. A Bus Stop in Riverside, 2251

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Parental abuse - physical and verbal

It was still night when Spock was woken by a loud clattering noise, coming from a short distance outside the barn. Even small noises were enough to wake a Vulcan when he so chose, this was enough to have Spock jolting upward in a movement so jerky that his back cracked. At least the rest – however short it had been - had all but completely dissipated his headache, and Spock found that he was able to think more freely about what had to be done. Now, the path in front of him seemed clearer.

He would have to get to San Francisco, find his old laboratory, recreate the circumstances that allowed for time travel, and return to his time. Broken down into four steps, it seemed childishly simple. Jim often broke his plans into a simple series of steps, which left plenty of room for improvisation when things inevitably went wrong. Of course, nobody ever seemed to question the Captain on that last point.

He would go to the bus depot in the morning after requesting a hat from Jim. Vulcans were not common in this part of Earth, and he did not want to attract attention. A hat was usually enough to disguise his identity – the _lengths_ he went to as a child to disguise his identity had been absurd. Spock still recalled those absurd gloves.

With his plan made, Spock begun to determine what noise had woken him up. He stuck his head out of the window to peer over the large wheat fields of Riverside, to marvel at the size of the moon, and to hear the sound of passionate argumentation from below. His eyes were drawn towards the open window on Jim’s home.

“Doesn’t _matter_ where I’ve been!” Jim’s voice, furious. “Just go back to bed, you drunk asshole!”

“You’ll come home when I _tell_ you to come home!” An unknown voice, but from context … this was, indeed, Frank. “I don’t want to get a call from the goddamn constable again –”

“That was months ago! Fuck off, I was out at Jack’s – “

“Don’t _take_ that tone with your father!”

Before he could think of a plan, Spock was standing up from the cot. He moved to sit on the edge of the open barn window to try and get a better view into the window, and could see nothing except a flash of the linoleum in Jim’s kitchen. Concern and anxiety prickled along the edges of his shoulders. He did not know what role he filled here. Would it severely impact the timeline, should he intervene? Would Jim even want him to intervene in the first place? This Jim did not know him from metaphorical Adam. It was causing him no small amount of internal distress to listen to this exchange, but none of that registered upon his face.

He argued with Sarek frequently. They differed in opinion more than they shared it. Jim grew immensely concerned by it sometimes. But it was never like this. It was never with the intent of shouting as loudly as possible to be heard.

“ _STEP!”_ The word seemed ripped from Jim’s throat, a shriek that tumbled out the window. It was accompanied by a thud, the sound of shattering glass, and a yelp – Jim’s.

Frank would pay with blood.

Spock no longer debated with himself. Timeline be damned. There was no dimension nor time where he could listen to Jim being hurt and not intervene, damn the consequences.

He almost threw himself down the ladder, the rough wood bearing an uncomfortable friction against his palms. The barn door, surprisingly heavy, creaked open as he pulled at it. However, the pair were still arguing loudly enough in the kitchen that Spock felt confident they would not hear him. Likely Frank did not expect an overnight visitor in his barn. There was a back screendoor leading directly to the kitchen, which seemed to be where the yelling was centralized. _Jim was in danger,_ Spock told himself, to soothe the rational part of his mind, _You have an obligation to protect your bondmate, even if – even if matters are complicated._ _Do not maim Frank. Do not kill Frank. That will upset Jim even more._

Spock stood at the screen door and looked inside.

Jim was bleeding and facing him, some dozen feet away. His eye was rapidly swelling, already turning various shades of blue and black. A trickle of blood flowed from his split lip. Jim’s eyes never fell on him at the door. Indeed, his attention was focused on the heavily-breathing man in front of him, shoulders rising and falling in exertion. Spock realized that this was Frank.

Frank was a tall, gaunt man. His slightly yellowish skin indicated, at least preliminarily, an issue with his liver. Given that way he was swaying somewhat on his feet, Spock suspected an advanced drinking problem. The scent of booze that lingered throughout the kitchen made Spock remember the chocolate-rum mixture he used to drink with alarming frequency during his days at the Academy, and he recoiled.

Frank’s hand was clutched into a fist. There were glass shards all over the floor. Of what, Spock did not know, but that did not matter.

“You’re a useless good-for-nothing sonofabitch,” Frank hissed at him, “And you bet your ma wishes your daddy was still alive instead of her delinquent son.”

“Aw, but _Frank,”_ Jim soothed, offering his stepfather a shit-eating grin. Some of the blood from his lip had smeared across the front of his teeth. There was something explicitly shiny in his eyes, a sort of wild ferocity. “Then we never would’ve met!”

“You keep laughing it off, but I’m the only one who’s telling you the truth. You’re never gonna be worth _anything_ if you keep fucking up.”

Slowly, Spock opened the screen door and stepped onto the linoleum flooring of the kitchen. Jim noticed him; his eyes flickered for only a second before returning to Frank. Spock could not identify the emotion on his face but could see a nerve jump in his jaw. Spock’s shoes were silent on the floor as he crept forward, quiet as a mouse.

“Maybe I don’t wanna be worth anything, huh?” Jim asked, throwing his arms out to the side. “Maybe I just wanna be a useless asshole and jerk off with my friends for the rest of my life. You ever think of _that,_ Fra – “

He cut himself off as Frank advanced forward, backing up so quickly that his back hit the wall. Frank did not stop himself. His hands balled up the front of Jim’s shirt. With strength not shown in his thin frame, Frank lifted Jim off the ground. His tendons bulged from his muscles; Spock suspected that Frank had once been quite physically adept and some of the strength still lingered. “Now, you’re gonna be _really_ polite if you’re going to make it through this,” he hissed through his teeth.

It had gone on enough. Spock had crept forward into the center of the kitchen until he was right behind Frank. He raised his hand and Jim smiled triumphantly, eyes taking on a shiny quality as he looked at his stepfather. “Frank, why don’t you just shove it up your ass, bud?”

The nerve pinch was quick. One moment, Spock’s fingers were brushing against Frank’s shoulder, and he felt the man stiffen in fear and shock. The next, Frank had fallen unconscious and Spock had caught his body before it hit the floor. Jim caught himself and placed a hand on the wall.

Silence passed between them. Spock tried not to look at Jim’s wide eyes as he tried to take stock of what had occurred – the young man seemed to be in a state of shock. Whatever he had expected Spock to do, it was certainly not that. Spock wanted to sweep forward to him, to hold him, to explain everything and soothe his worries, but he had to force himself to think of this man as a stranger. More to the point, a stranger that was nearly a child and Spock figured that he had crossed a dozen boundaries as it stood.

“I am going to put him on the couch,” Spock informed him a low, gentle tone of voice. There was no need to frighten him further. “He will cut himself on the broken glass when he wakes.”

“He’s not dead?” Jim’s voice was smaller and higher than Spock would’ve expected.

Spock’s head shot up in confusion, before recalling Jim’s disbelief at his insistence that Vulcans could not cause death with a single touch. He supposed that, with Frank’s slackened face and loose limbs, it didn’t appear dissimilar to death. Spock readjusted his hold so that he could see Frank’s chest rise up and down in a rhythm. “He isn’t dead,” Spock instead reassured, “But he will be unconscious for several hours. It is called the Vulcan nerve pinch and he will receive no long-lasting effects. You have my word.”

The sigh of relief from Jim was palpable. Although Spock suspected he was not inordinately fond of Frank’s continued existence, the stranger that he had brought onto his property killing his stepfather would yield some difficulty with the local authorities. And Jim’s dislike of killing (how strange to call it that, really, like that was not the natural state of things) was so severe it almost rivaled the strength of Vulcan philosophical principles. Spock was pleased to see that had started young. “Okay. Okay, oh my god. Good. I thought --” Jim shook his head. All at once, the fear on Jim’s face dissipated, replaced with the same cocky self-assurance that Spock often saw in dire straits. It was practically a sticker slapped onto him. “Thought I was going to have to skip town for a second.”

He hadn’t suspected physical abuse on the brief times that Jim had mentioned his stepfather. It simply hadn’t occurred to him; it happened so rarely on Vulcan that Spock forgot some species had higher rates of incidence. Seeing Jim’s black eye and busted lip, though, his heart felt swollen with sympathy. _My poor beloved. Who could ever lay a hand on you?_ Spock could not bring himself to regret his actions against Frank. Defending Jim was never something to apologize for. He could only try to shove down the regret that he had not hurt Frank more.

Spock picked Frank up in a bridal carry. The middle-aged man was lighter than he had expected, even as frail as he was. He crossed the kitchen to the living room of Jim’s childhood home. The decorations were well-worn; the couch somewhat sunken in. There was a faint smell that Spock couldn’t place, almost tangy in its odor. Still, it was not dirty, other than the frankly impressive amount of beer bottles creating stains on the peeling coffee table. Aphids clustered in the drapes and the front of the door.

What surprised Spock most were the pictures on the wall. He could recognize one man in them. Every Starfleet cadet walked by the memorial bust of George Kirk to one class or another, but it was strange to see him in such a casual context. His arm was slung around a woman that Spock recognized as Winona Kirk. A few additional photos were put up of Winona and Frank, though Spock noted that Frank appeared to be in much better health, then.

None of Jim, aside from a photo of an infant so young that Spock could not positively identify who it was. No – the baby did not have blue eyes. Likely not Jim, in that case.

He carried the unconscious man to the couch and placed him down. Jim ghosted behind him, clearly curious, as Spock settled Frank’s hands on his stomach. At least Frank hadn’t gotten a good look at him. Perhaps he would simply believe that he had passed out from his own intoxication, and not a creeping Vulcan behind him. After all, the idea of a Vulcan in Riverside breaking into his home would seem _ridiculous._ He turned, straightened, and faced Jim.

Jim’s hands were in his front pockets. He was staring at the floor in a way that immediately pressed upon Spock that Jim was only barely older than a child. He almost looked as if he was waiting for punishment, and Spock ducked his head somewhat to get a better look at his injuries.

“Are you alright?” Spock asked him. Jim rubbed the back of his hand across his lip.

“Yeah. Uh, it’s nothing. Just, you know, got home a little later than expected.” He wasn’t meeting Spock’s eyes, and Spock almost got the sensation that he was … embarrassed, somehow. His instinctual urge was to reach forward, to let his hands brush against Jim’s injuries, to coo and fuss and heal – but Spock couldn’t imagine a more inappropriate action. “He was just frustrated, today.”

“Does he often …?” Spock did not know how to ask. He was rarely at a loss for words.

“No. I mean, once in a while. You just came on a bad night. Probably the worst it’s been all year.” Jim turned away, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, you hungry? I’ll fix you something to eat.” Before Spock could answer, Jim was already returning to the kitchen. “It’s late. And I know there’s no food in the barn.”

Now, Spock faced a moral quandary.

If he turned Frank in, it would irrevocably change Jim’s future. Their shared future. If he did not, then he would allow this to continue. Jim would grow and overcome, of course, but this – _this_ pain – would not be there should Spock personally intervene. Spock watched Jim’s back as he retreated into the kitchen, deeply uncertain.

In the end, Jim answered it for him. “Um, you’re not going to tell anyone about this, right?” He asked awkwardly, sticking his head out the kitchen door. “Seriously. Don’t.”

“Why?” Spock joined him in the kitchen and sat at the table. Jim was already at the stove, putting a pot on it. Various vittles lay on the counter beside him. “He would be arrested for assault.”

Jim snorted. “Yeah, no, he wouldn’t be. We’ve been down that path before. He’s drinking buddies with practically every middle-aged jackass in town who hates their wife. It just – Mom finds out, and it stresses her out like hell, and nothing ends up happening because nobody wants to freak out the woman who lost her first husband. So.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone? You probably shouldn’t be talking to any authorities since you’re a man on the run, and all.”

Ah. Jim was apparently running with that theory. Spock folded his hands on the counter and looked at him, studying him. He could already see echoes of the man he had grown to know and love – unfortunately, this current one seemed to reflect Jim’s insistence that he could not crack. “I promise,” Spock murmured under his breath. “But I do not agree with your assessment.”

“Yeah, well. Tough beans, it’s what I want. I’ll be okay, man. I mean, I won’t be staying here forever.”

Spock could not help but ask from curiosity. “Why have you stayed as long as you have?”

Jim went silent. A pan was added to the stovetop as he started to fry something – synthesized meat. Spock’s stomach quietly turned. _No thank you,_ but Jim was already continuing. There was an impressive amount of food on the counter, and Spock would feel somewhat guilty for remarking that he wasn’t incredibly hungry to begin with.

“It’s just …” Jim sighed, glaring down at the pan in front of him. “Maybe it’s not ideal. But nowhere is ideal, right? If utopia was a planet, we’d all shit bricks. At least I know the routine here.”

“You do not want to take the risk,” Spock summarized.

“Ha!” Jim laughed out bitterly. “No. Not in the business of risk, man. You allergic to anything?”

“No. Thank you for your hospitality.” This entire situation made Spock feel twisted, inside. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to transmit the love and care and concern – but that would be too much. No, he had to do this the human way. The hard way. “I apologize for what you have to go through here. You do not – “

“Can we _drop_ it?” Jim shot at him, his shoulders tense. “You can tell me whatever you want. I deserve better. I’m bigger than Riverside. I’m a celebrity trainwreck waiting to happen. It doesn’t change anything. I’ve heard it all before. But the fact of the matter is that … I’m always …” He drifted off until Spock smelled something begin to burn, and then continued to cook. “I’m always just here, no matter which jackass takes me as their charity case. I don’t even know where else I’d go. I don’t know anyone outside Riverside.”

What a far cry from the cocksure young man that had been teasing him in the barn. Spock somehow felt as if this was the closest to the ‘real’ Jim. It certainly matched the man he saw on rare occasions, shoulders slumped and teary-eyed in his quarters – writing letters to families of crewmembers that had been lost. “You do not have to be,” Spock advised, “I do not know what qualities you imagine in a man that would leave all that he has known – but rest assured, he is not superhuman. You possess all those and more. You have the courage, and the fortitude, within you.”

Jim didn’t respond to that. Spock was intensely reminded that Jim had requested him to drop it, and Spock acquiesced. Instead, he stared at the wood grain of the table. _When I find Jim again,_ Spock promised himself, _I want to embrace him._ _I will not let him go._ Again, he tried to flare the bond, to transmit something across it – but there was yet nothing. The attempt nevertheless made him feel better.

“So, what’s the plan?” Jim seemed to be finished with cooking, starting to put the food on large plates. That was not _all_ for him, surely. “For you, I mean. I can’t imagine you want to stick around in Riverside, Iowa for too long, Mr. Selek.”

“San Francisco,” Spock confessed. He did not know how much he could elaborate on, so he kept it appropriately vague. “There is a location there that I need to access – that it is vitally important I access.”

“For your drug lab.” The rest of the food was placed on the table, enough for at _least_ five different men. Spock didn’t know what Jim knew of the Vulcan appetite, but this was slightly overboard. An empty plate was put in front of Spock – clearly to encourage him to take some of his own, but Spock refused for now. Instead, he fixed Jim with a half-glare. “What! You’re not going to be any more specific? What’s in San Francisco?”

“A … laboratory.” As Jim’s eyes lit up, Spock immediately corrected himself. “A _research_ laboratory on Starfleet Academy grounds.” He became aware that Jim was handing something to him – a dinner roll. Spock placed it on the plate in front of him. “It investigates incredibly rare astronomical phenomena.”

“Huh.” Without looking down, he handed Spock something else. A few apple slices. Spock put those down on the plate, as well. “So, _why_ are you going to a Starfleet research lab? Ooh!” Jim snapped his fingers in front of him. “You’re stealing something. It’s a heist.”

Spock could not stifle a roll of his eyes. Were all human youth so … _imaginative?_ “No,” he commented, as he put down the bits of cheese and crackers Jim had put into his hands. “I must access their facilities to run some tests. I am a scientist.”

“And … I’m taking it that you’re not doing this the official way. You’re breaking in.”

No, Spock couldn’t imagine that going up to the lab and asking for access would go well. Especially considering he was fairly certain his twenty-year-old self had just been accepted to the lab, though the lab director was continually frustrated with his … misbehavior. Although he looked _quite_ different from his younger self these days, Spock doubted he would be able to sneak past so easily. The lab was sickeningly confidential, with complicated security procedures required just for access. So much for the simple four steps, Spock presumed. He placed the sandwich that Jim had just handed him onto his rapidly filling plate, only to have Jim add a bowl of soup to it. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I am not stealing anything, but I will be … breaking in.”

He had averted his eyes in mild shame. When he raised them again, he saw Jim looking at him with slightly open-mouthed, adoring awe. “You’re _breaking_ into a _Starfleet lab,”_ he murmured. “Jesus. You’re the coolest guy I’ve ever met.”

Badass. Indeed. Spock raised one eyebrow at Jim.

“How will you be getting there?” Jim asked curiously. “I mean, I _could_ get you a car if you really wanted, I used to put in some hours at the mechanic’s –”

“No. There is a bus depot in town, I presume? I will be taking public transit. If I could borrow a hat of yours,” Spock brushed his hair behind his ear to reveal the pointed tip, “That would be appreciated. I – “

There was a soup spoon thrust into his mouth. Instinctively, Spock swallowed the warm broth and looked over at his companion.

Jim was holding the other end of the soup spoon, a wide smile on his face. Spock reached up to pluck the spoon from his mouth, setting the other end of it in his bowl. “I’m not a child, Jim, I don’t need to be fed.” His voice was grumpy.

“I know. I know, I just – don’t think you’ve eaten anything since you got here.” Jim expressed, half-apologetic. Spock cast a look down at his plate. It was full, now. More than. Some gravy was steadily dripping off the plate. Jim had evidently passed more food onto it when he wasn’t looking at him, and larger platters were subtly organized around Spock’s plate. He looked up at Jim and realized that Jim had only returned from Tarsus IV when he was sixteen.

Even in adulthood, Spock had noticed several unusual behaviors concerning food. Jim had to be lightly cajoled into sitting down and eating with him, otherwise Spock noticed that he preferred to perform other tasks simultaneously to his regular meals. Jim experienced light agitation when he was eating alone in front of Spock and kept a box of protein bars in the bottom of his nightstand table. Most notably, Jim was generally willing to drop whatever he was doing if Spock made any mention of hunger – on one notable occasion, Spock had informed Jim on the bridge that he would work through lunch and eat later. Jim, before even realizing what he was doing, had shifted command of the bridge to bring him lunch.

“Thank you,” Spock murmured. He delicately picked a few things off the plate – the cheese, the meat, the cookies. “I apologize. The Vulcan diet is very unlike Earthers.”

“No, that’s okay. Just, you know, glad we found something for you. Let me get that hat for you.” After seeing Spock swallow a few spoonfuls of soup, Jim relented and passed through the living room. Spock winced as he heard Jim’s shoes crunch against the broken glass.

How strange to be able to see a younger version of his bondmate. Less certain of himself and his abilities. Still managing devastating trauma, and more relevantly …

Fewer people who cared for his welfare. Jim was a massive star of a man – blisteringly warm and attracting people into his pull with seemingly no effort at all. Spock looked down at the spread of food in front of him. _Your selflessness has not changed, t’hy’la,_ he told himself, taking a few thoughtful bites of the dinner roll. It was tasteless and mealy, though Spock was willing to attribute that to the sudden rush of longing he had to see his husband again. The bread sank like sludge down his throat.

“I think this’ll look good on you. I mean,” Jim corrected, “Not that you care about that. Probably. But, uh.” He coughed and passed along a dark beanie to Spock. This was familiar to him. There were nine away missions where he’d had to hide his ears, and he tucked them into the band of the heat easily. “You _do_ look good with that. Very, uhm – “

“Human?” Spock asked coyly. “How narrow-minded of you, Jim.”

“No! I _like_ your ears. They’re really … pointy.” Jim was blushing deeply, a fine red dust covering most of his face.

At a minimum, it would enable him to return to San Francisco without people looking twice. A Vulcan on Earth was not cause for shock or alarm, but it was notable in sparsely populated areas, and Spock would rather not be _notable._

He finished the bowl of soup and most of his vegetables when he saw the sun was beginning to rise out the window. His sleep had been disturbed, and he felt somewhat frazzled at the lack of it – but he would be able to sleep on the bus, and then he would be well—rested enough. “I should leave now,” Spock murmured as he stood. “Is it far from here?”

“Oh. You’re going?”

“I presume the first bus leaves fairly early.”

“Yeah. Right, um, and Frank probably won’t – probably won’t be asleep for much longer. I should clean up,” Jim remarked, looking around the dishes on the counter and on the table. “It’s not far. Just go through the same path we walked down on – it’s right next to the high school. It’s not dangerous, or anything.” Jim chuckled. “Like that matters to you anyway.”

Spock was uncertain of how, exactly, he had projected the persona of some renegade outlaw to Jim – though he _would_ be telling Dr. McCoy with great relish, later. And, of course, he would sit curled up with Jim in his embrace and spare him no details.

“Thank you,” Spock repeated softly. His eyes held an undisguised fondness in them. “For what you have done for me.”

Jim’s blush only worsened. He coughed and looked down at his feet, shuffling them. “Don’t mention it.”

Walking past him, Spock felt a strange tug at his heart at the idea of leaving him again. It was not _his_ Jim, to be certain, but they bore the same face and Spock missed his own so badly. It was irrelevant. He would find his Jim again, and all would be well.

Passing the unconscious Frank on the couch, Spock could not bring himself to bear guilt.

The path to the bus depot was uneventful. Spock marveled at the wheat fields as he passed through them, noting the way the rising sun seemed to make them glow. It was not a pleasant childhood, to be certain, but Spock nevertheless felt a deeper connection to his bondmate in that moment. Understood him more.

When he arrived, the sun had fully risen and the bus depot was empty. Spock puzzled over the bus schedule, carefully concealing his frustration. The next bus that left for San Francisco was not for several more hours. Approximately mid-day. _Certainly,_ there was no time limit for returning home – to use a human phrase, they seemed to have nothing but time.

But Spock was feeling _impatient._ He was not hungry and not tired, true, but he’d been separated from Jim for nearly twelve hours and he wanted to go _home._ His gaze hardened into a glare at the offending bus schedule screen. It seemed he would have little choice in the matter. Spock carefully adjusted his hat around his ears and went to go sit and wait.

And he did wait.

Spock had no use for estimations. Given the slow digital clock in the corner of the bus depot, Spock knew it was precisely forty-seven minutes before he heard the honk of a car horn and realized he had irrevocably, terribly changed the timeline.

The windows of the bus depot were large, extending nearly from floor to ceiling. They were grimy and stained yellow. Diesel engines had not been used for my decades, and Spock could not help but wonder if those windows had, indeed, been stained for several decades as a result.

Still, they offered enough transparency for Spock to see something significantly smaller than a bus pull up to the curb outside the depot. At that point, there were several others in the terminal, and they all looked up from their PADDs to stare at the visitor.

The car did not move. A beat passed, and then a horn blared ceaselessly.

Spock pressed his ears against his hands, standing. He stood up and exited the depot. As the door slammed shut behind him, what he saw was a large, shiny, red … automobile, of some kind. He did not have enough experience with them to know what kind, other than that it was obviously quite old and quite well-repaired.

Laying off the horn, Jim instead raised his hand to wave at him. “Selek!” He called out. “Hop in!”

“What are you _doing?”_ Spock realized with a start that his hands were still over his ears, and was speaking much louder than usual. He uncovered them and looked down at Jim. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going on a road trip.” Jim’s cocky smirk flashed at him as he cut out the engine. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

That particular phrase was one that Spock wasn’t familiar with, despite his fascination with human holovids in his youth. Hands at his sides, Spock asked in exasperation, “What?”

“Let’s just _get out_ of here. You gotta go to San Francisco. I don’t wanna stay in Riverside. Let’s _go.”_

“We cannot simply – “ Spock cut himself off in frustration, trying to resist making an insolent groan. “You _must_ remain here. I cannot explain why, but you must.” And how could he explain, really? That although it burned him to his very soul to insist that Jim must remain here, with someone who hurt him, to maintain the timeline (moreso than it had already been disrupted) – _he nevertheless must?_

Just like that, Jim’s smile faded. “Oh, okay.” The engine started up again. “So all that was just bullshit, then.”

“What was?”

“Everything you said. Courage and fortitude or whatever. Grade A bull. You sure fooled me. Guess that’s what makes you such a good con artist.”

Spock looked at him, dismayed. _What if this impacts Jim’s life even worse?_ His mind, ready to lash out at himself, asked him. _What if you destroy Jim’s beliefs and values here? What if, instead of joining Starfleet, he prefers to stay here in Riverside because he remembers you discouraging him?_ Was that a worse violation of the timeline than having him leave Riverside? Was maintaining Jim’s character more important than maintaining concrete details about his life?

There were too many variables and Spock was fully aware that Jim was trying to manipulate him into agreeing. But, truly, could he really blame the man? Spock stepped forward and put his hand on the car. “Wait,” he remarked softly. “You want to leave Riverside _now_?” The car was reflecting the sun, red as cherries, and Spock could see himself reflected in the door. The roof also … didn’t appear to be there. _Convertible,_ a far-off part of Spock’s mind told him, _this is a convertible._ “Why now?”

“ _Because._ You’re, like – you’re the best reason I got. You’re badass, you’re exciting, you give a shit about me.” Jim’s voice went quiet. “Yeah. About me. And you’re a good guy, and I feel like … I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid, but I feel like this is the right thing to do. Destiny?” He looked up at Spock and tapped at his head, just behind his own ear. “Little voice, you know? I wanna be your sidekick.”

He was very familiar with that. Spock had often remarked to Jim that between the little voice in Jim’s head that told him what to do and the little feeling in Jim’s stomach that told him what to do and the sensation in Jim’s bones that told him what to do, it was surprising that Jim had any free will at all. Those comments always made Jim chuckle in a fond way. Similarly, he was just as aware that it was impossible to convince Jim to do something else when he had set his mind upon it.

Perhaps Spock was biased in that regard – he would support any decision that would take Jim out of danger. Any decision that would keep Jim safe – who could fault him in that?

His fingers closed around the handle. They were trembling with uncertainty. _Is this the best thing to do?_ Again, he reached for Jim, trying to beg the question across their bond. _T’hy’la, beloved, please tell me if I am doing the right thing._ No response was given. And even if Jim could hear him, he doubted Jim would know.

Spock opened the passenger side door and slid inside, next to Jim. The eighteen-year-old beamed wide.

“ _Hell yes,”_ Jim grunted under his teeth, manipulating a peculiar knob in the center console between them. “Hell _fucking_ yes.” The engine made a high keening noise as Jim started to inch forward. “I’m doing this. I’m – _we’re –_ “ Jim suddenly broke in, grasping Spock’s shoulder tight. “We’re doing this, man!”

He was definitely being a bad influence. The uncertainty didn’t leave him as they left the bus depot, pulling out onto the main road. He was definitely affecting the timeline; Spock knew that for certain now – but was this going to ruin it? Even as Jim ascended into euphoria, Spock felt himself dripping down into despair.

“Where did you get the car?” Spock asked despondently, leaning against the passenger side door. Wheat fields stretched out on both sides in front of them, far taller than the car. Inside of the car, Spock could see that it had been outfitted for solar power. Good. Knowing Jim, he would not be surprised if the man had rigged up the last working diesel engine on Earth. This made him feel somewhat less environmentally dirty, though it was poor comfort.

Jim whistled, ignoring him as they picked up speed along the road. Spock repeated his question with more insistence.

“Technically … it’s not stealing,” Jim immediately defended himself. “It’s in Frank’s name, sure. But it was a good-for-nothing junker before I fixed it up, so really, I mean, I think that makes it mine. If I found a house in the middle of the woods and fixed it up, _nobody_ would be coming at me with the deed, saying _legally_ –“

“Yes,” Spock answered tersely, “Yes, they would absolutely be saying that.”

“Well. It wouldn’t be right.”

It was no use arguing with him. Spock wondered if this meant he had abetted in a theft. Did it still count as theft if he had not been there when the original taking had taken place? Best not to think on the matter. Getting arrested would be one of the _worst_ things for him in that timeline, and he could only hope for the best. “You didn’t tell anyone you were going?” He asked softly. “The children you coach baseball for.”

“It isn’t …” Jim took a deep breath. “One good thing isn’t worth the thousand and three ragingly shitty things I have to deal with in Riverside. No. I didn’t tell anyone. Easier that way. They won’t miss me much.” Spock noticed that he was putting more speed on the accelerator, and he wanted to ask if that was truly necessary. Cocky and eager to shift the subject, Jim gave him a half-grin and turned towards him. His eyes were off the road. “What, worried about me?”

“ _Jim!”_ Spock hissed out as he reached forward for the wheel. As he did so, his fingers brushed along Jim’s. An electric spark passed through them, entirely from static, that made Spock jump. More than that, through the touch telepathy, Spock could feel that Jim was determined. Jim was _positive,_ and _confident,_ and Spock was surprised to find that Jim was much more certain about this than Spock felt. Perhaps some things never changed. Granted, Spock had the burden of knowledge where Jim did not in matters of time travel, but _still_. “ _The road!”_

Jim collapsed into laughter and fully raised his hands from the wheel.

This boy was going to get them both _killed._ Spock’s hands tightened on the wheel. The road was a straight shot; they hadn’t yet left the outer boundary of Riverside. If they diverged off the road, they would only hit wheat fields – but Spock was not completely certain that it would end well for the car.

“What, you wanna take the wheel?” Jim cajoled him. After a few seconds, he lightly settled his fingers on the wheel again. Spock went back to his seat, though he did fix Jim with a cold glare. That was _not_ going to be happening again.

He tightened his fingers on the wheel and pressed the accelerator. The end of the wheat fields were in sight. “Sorry, Selek,” he coaxed. At first, Spock thought it was a genuine apology, before his apologetic smile turned into a half grin. “But I prefer to drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Vulcan and a human in a stolen car, what will they doooooooooooooooooooo.  
> Another update for the week! Thanks all for reading!


	5. An Apartment in San Francisco, 2251

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of grief

Jim woke up to the sound of Spock in the kitchen the next morning. Something was cooking. Something … meat-like was cooking, from the sizzling and popping. Replicated meat of some kind. _Bacon?_ His eyes flew open and he saw Spock busying himself with his back turned. Steam was rising from a pan on the stove, and he was quickly trying to whisk something else in another – eggs, another thing that Spock did not eat. A toaster dinged with toast, and Jim had to admit that he _had_ seen Spock eat toast before, though it was not his preference to do so.

His preference was actually something Jim would always, always tease him for. Unflavored, unsweetened oatmeal. _Occasionally_ he’d throw in a fruit piece or a little honey, but Jim believed deep down in his heart that his husband’s favorite breakfast meal was wet sawdust. And now – Jim’s stomach rolled with hunger, of course, but the sheer weirdness of waking up to Spock making breakfast consisting mostly of things that he did not eat.

“You are a heavy sleeper,” Spock commented from the kitchen. “I went through your pockets as you slept and you did not wake. I found nothing. No identification, no wallet. Nothing that indicates anything you told me is correct.”

Creepy! Cool. With a grunt, Jim shifted onto his back and tried to think of a solution that would get him out of this. His leg didn’t hurt much. The scratch had been light to begin with, anyway. At least his head didn’t feel like it was going to split open, anymore. If needed, Jim could sprint away from the apartment into the night, leaving Spock with a very weird impression but _hopefully_ not ruining the timeline. He hoped he could at least sit through breakfast first.“At least take me out to dinner first before you start with the groping,” he grumbled, though there was no malice in it. He wasn’t angry. Just … tired, and at a loss for a plan, and – always, always _always –_ missing his bondmate.

Spock didn’t respond from the kitchen. He drained some of the grease from the bacon. Jim wondered if he felt guilty for invading Jim’s privacy, but he couldn’t make a strong guess. This Spock wasn’t the Spock he’d ended up marrying, was he? Maybe this Spock was a real asshole. Not that his Spock couldn’t be an asshole, at times, but he was usually an asshole in Jim’s favor.

He plated breakfast and walked out to the living room, letting Jim get an eyeful of his outfit for today. The same black platform boots as last night, lacing halfway up his calf. The same thin black gloves that travelled all the way across his arms. A black beanie that seemed too big for his head, but nevertheless hid his ears. The black jeans this time had no rips or tears in them, but instead had a series of silver chains connected to his belt. It seemed to match the black, silver-studded choker around his neck. A wrinkled black V-neck with such a low collar that Jim saw a tuft of dark chest hair. that matched a black choker around his neck.

Well, _this_ wasn’t a look that Jim thought he was attracted to. If it was on a different man – _his_ man – Jim was sure he’d start to salivate. He’d have to have a word with Spock about shore leave attire when they reunited, maybe. Though if he knew Spock – he would never want to speak about this time in his life ever again. Perhaps not due to trauma, but sheer embarrassment.

As it was, staring at him, Jim felt nothing but faint pity and amusement. The patchy black lipstick and clumsily applied eyeliner made him appear faintly … endearing. He knew it wasn’t technically right to think of this Spock as a _kid –_ he was 20, after all – but there was a lack of certainty to his movements, his sense of character. It was like watching a baby deer try to walk.

Spock placed the breakfast plate on the table. As Jim expected: bacon, eggs, and toast. For a guy who couldn’t eat at least two of those things, Jim was impressed by how _good_ it smelled. “You made this for me?” He asked curiously, looking up at Spock, not bothering to reach for his silverware just yet. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Jim half-stood from his spot. “Here, I can go make you some oatmeal if you’ve got some.” He’d become an expert in making wet sawdust, after all, and wouldn’t Spock be _surprised_ when this weird stranger made his breakfast preferences perfectly --

It was as if Spock hadn’t considered that. A hand shot out to stop him, and Jim paused in his movements. Spock looked at him, then at the plate, then back at him in a motion full of Vulcan calculation. Then, slowly, he reached forward to pluck a portion of the bacon off the plate.

“ _No –_ “ Jim quickly slid the plate away from him, “I know Vulcans don’t –”

A fire lit up in Spock’s eyes at the sentence, and Jim realized he’d _definitely_ said the wrong thing. Spock did not break eye contact as he popped the replicated piece of meat into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. There was a momentary wince that Spock quickly covered, before he gave a shrug and made a wordless gesture that Jim recognized well – _what are you going to do about it?_

Concern flooded through him again. Eating meat, replicated or no, generally made Spock’s stomach turn. Whether or not his physical anatomy was made to handle Terran meat was besides the point; he’d adhered to Vulcan cuisine almost exclusively his entire life (excepting, apparently, _this_ weird phase that he’d gone through). Vegetables and fruit (not too sweet) and grain.

There’d been an unfortunate incident one away mission. Jim had been excited to bring along Spock in a diplomatic capacity; it was always nice to beam down on planets where things _weren’t_ trying to knock you down a block in the food chain. They’d attended a feast to welcome their arrival, which had been very kind – until a miscommunication had occurred and they found out after the fact that a portion of their meal had been meat-based. To that day, Jim had no idea what on their plate had been secretly meat.

Even if the portion had not been large, Spock had been sick most of the night. It had least answered the question as to whether Spock had been intentionally poisoned or not, because Jim had been ready to beam back down there and demand an explanation before the miscommunication was settled. They’d just started dating, then. Spock had not betrayed any sense of embarrassment, even as Jim had sat by him in their shared bathroom and rubbed his back as he lost his lunch. Bones had put him on half-shift duty the following day from sheer pity. Jim remembered running his hand through his hair in bed, murmuring how he had to go to work but he’d be checking up on him at lunch. Jim had commanded him jokingly not to move a goddamn muscle. He still recalled how Spock, pale and curled up under blankets, had cracked his eyes open and whispered in a scratchy voice, “Thank you, ashayam.” It’d been the first time that he’d ever been called that.

Somehow, he didn’t think they’d have a similar memory of that moment. Jim remembered it with warmth – Spock would probably remember it with faint nausea and frustration. He blinked, returning to the present.

Best not to anger the Vulcan who was definitely going to have a bad time gastrointestinally later.

“Okay,” he replied instead, “Thanks. Um, for breakfast.” Jim gave into his hungry urges and started to eat. _Is it going to screw up the timeline if I eat this egg?_ Now, he was too tired to worry about it anymore. He didn’t like the idea of eating in front of Spock alone, but any movement to get the guy some food would probably be met with bacon theft again. Spock would eat later, Jim told himself. It would be fine. Anxiety still prickled along his shoulders and he tucked into his food quickly. “And letting me crash, again.”

Spock nodded. He sat down, slouched back, and then – in one calculated movement - spread his knees far apart in the chair. Jim wondered just how deep this human act went – it all seemed so _artificial._ Even if Spock was trying very hard to remain casual, there was something intense and interrogative in his eyes. Jim felt like a specimen under a microscope. The prime exhibit in a human zoo.

“About last night, what are you going to tell your husband?”

 _Oh, shit, that’s right. I lied and told him I had a husband. Well, I didn’t lie exactly._ “Oh, no. No, no.” Jim waved his hand dismissively. _I mean, I am going to tell him later, when I find him, and I’m not sure whether he’s going to die of embarrassment or just be glad to see me_ _or both. I know I’m going to hug the hell out of him and tell him that he’s my favorite Vulcan, though._ “Don’t be worried about it. These things happen _all_ the time. Just a misunderstanding between strangers, right?”

“Spending the night with strangers happens all the time,” Spock repeated in a low, perplexed sort of voice. Jim recognize _that_ tone, anyway: _is he bullshitting me or are humans more complicated than I thought?_

His eyes fell on Spock again, taking in so many things that he didn’t know about his husband before they met. He didn’t realize how much it bothered him – not from Spock’s perspective, obviously, but it made _him_ feel like a real shitheel of a husband for not knowing. What kind of bondmate practically didn’t know anything about their partner before the age of 25? 30, even?

Jim took a deep breath. “Well, you know, these things happen to _me_ all the time. And I’ve been pretty open about that, I think, to him. The sort of trouble I got into. Get into. But, him? You think you know someone you marry. If you had asked me before if this sort of thing happened to him – I’d say _hell no,_ you know?” He pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose. “And not that it matters to me whether it happened to him no times or a million times, I just thought … you think you know a man, and you sort of think that you’re the first time that “this sort of thing” happened to him, and now you’re not _upset,_ exactly, but you’re just … adjusting what you thought his life was, before he met you.” Jim took a breath, his eyes raising from Spock’s legs to his face. “And now it’s like, am _I_ the bad guy for not knowing? Should I have asked about “the sort of things he got into” before me? Does he not want me to know? Is he ashamed?”

Spock’s gaze hardened into confusion. Ah, _that_ look Jim was a little more familiar with. He shook his head and finished his breakfast, waving Spock off. “Don’t worry about it, Spock. Nobody’s gonna come and break your kneecaps. Just thinking out loud.” Spock, usually, was a good sounding board for that sort of thing – but now, he was just going to make the poor guy think he’d invited a crazyman into his apartment.

“Good. Thank you.” Pushing himself up on the chair, Spock smoothed his palms over his knees anxiously. He added, as if to assuage Jim’s thoughts: “I haven’t done that before. Last night.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, you’re, uh. You’re a natural at the seduction thing.” He definitely wasn’t. It hadn’t been the _worst_ kiss he’d ever had, but it was in the bottom five. Couldn’t he lie to save Spock’s poor ego, though? But there was still a strange tightness, an _anxiety,_ in Spock that he wanted to help, so Jim probed further: “First time you took someone home?”

By the smile that Spock gave him, he had helped. A warm feeling spread through Jim’s body. _That_ was a bona-fide Spock smile, wasn’t it? Shy and a little awkward-looking if someone wasn’t used to it. A man who hadn’t smiled very much in his life. “No. First time I -- “ He ran his hands over his knees again, nervously. Jim figured he probably wouldn’t have kept doing that if he hadn’t had those gloves on. “Kissed someone.”

“ _Oh!” That,_ Jim hadn’t expected. That would definitely fuck up the timeline, but in that moment, Jim couldn’t help but flash Spock a half-cocky grin. Was there ever any better reason to fuck up a timeline? He could revel in it a little bit. “I was your first kiss?”

“Yes. Was it … yes, given circumstances, it could have been better. More appropriate.” Spock shook his head. His hair was loose, just reaching his shoulders, still straight enough to use as a yardstick if Jim so chose. “It seemed right at the time. No, not right.” He considered himself. “Emotional. The emotional decision at the time. What a human would do. Therefore, because I am – it seemed like the right decision at the time.”

“Decking a guy, pulling another guy up from the ground, time seems to stop, you look deep into his eyes, and you just plant one on him?” _It was just like …_ “Just like in the holovids, huh?” It was a rare day when he could get Spock to watch a holovid with him. Even when he did, Spock often bemoaned the irrational and emotional plot and provided alternative solutions to the ending. Most holovids, Spock explained, could be solved in five minutes if all of the relevant characters were Vulcan.

“I watch holovids frequently.” Jim had to suppress a laugh from the bottom of his stomach, and it still came out as a chuckle. _That pointy-eared asshole! He pretended not to understand any of my movie references. And here he is, using holovids as a sort of cultural touchstone._ “May I ask what you do?”

 _That’s … a difficult question to answer._ “Oh, me?” Jim asked innocently, glancing to the side. Spock’s apartment had a nice look over San Francisco – much more appealing than lying straight to Spock’s face at the minute. “Nothing. Just a guy.”

“You do nothing for a profession.”

“Um, bartend. I bartend, normally. Not at the club you met me at, just around San Francisco.” _Smooth._ _Jesus, you used to be so much better at lying. What the hell’s wrong with you? Is it because he’s wearing a choker? Is he throwing you off?_ “Decided on my day off that I’d just … you know. Have fun?”

Spock’s gaze hardened into a glare. _That_ was more reassuringly Vulcan to him, even as Spock leaned over on the couch to rest on his knees. “You are lying to me. What are you hiding? I am a stranger to you – but you do not want me to know?”

There, Jim was faced with a dilemma.

The dilemma was that (taking the most reasonable explanation as the true one) he was stuck in the past, had no idea and no leads to get home. He could continue lying – badly, apparently, though Jim would like to question how could anyone lie to their pre-husband wearing tight jeans – or, he could ...

As Captain of a starship, he had his department heads to rely on. Sure, he knew a little bit on _every_ department that he’d picked up through osmosis. If a head couldn’t get a particular task finished, Jim would sit there for as long as it took until they explained _why_ it couldn’t be done. During one unfortunate shore leave, he’d spent his entire stay in the science labs with Spock babying some particularly sensitive flora samples they’d received. Botany wasn’t the snorefest that he’d previously considered. But he sure wasn’t the science brainiac that Spock was, and now, more than ever, he _needed_ him here to know. He needed his computer of a bondmate. And, for less urgent reasons, Jim wanted Spock here because he missed him. Because he felt his absence keenly.

Point was, Spock was … not here. Possibly dead. Regardless, _definitely_ not here.

He looked up at Spock with sad eyes, wondering if he was just about to ruin the future of the galaxy – again. There was no guarantee that _this_ Spock could figure it out. No guarantee that this Spock would even _believe_ him. No guarantee that Spock would solve it and then _not_ fuck up the timeline so badly that it fizzled out. But Jim was a Captain, and a Captain _needed_ to rely on others. If he didn’t, he was just a guy sitting in a very nice chair with nobody to order around.

He would have to take the risk – because, Jesus, didn’t he take risks all the time? _One-in-a-million Kirk._

Jim took a deep breath and leaned forward on the couch. _Don’t make it sound like you’re crazy,_ Jim begged internally, _I know this situation is crazy, but don’t make it sound like you’re crazy._ _Be charming, be sweet, don’t make it sound like you’re crazy._

“I’m not from this time. I’m from the future,” Jim addressed the table directly, staring down at his finished plate. Every word was carefully enunciated. He wasn’t on his home turf here, and had to be careful. “And I need to find a way to get back. The issue is that, in the future, I’m a Starfleet Captain. I’m not a temporal physics expert. And I need … your help, Spock, if I have _any_ hope of getting back to my time.”

He finally raised his eyes to look at Spock. Spock was regarding him steadily, though Jim noticed that his posture had straightened. Although his gaze was boring right into Jim’s own, Jim couldn’t tell anything in his face. His knees had snapped shut and strangely – even if it looked like an iron rod was glued to his spine – it was more _natural_ for him. “Why mine?” Spock finally asked, simply.

Better to come out with it, wasn’t it? He’d gotten this far. “I know you’re a genius. I … I know you in the future. You’ve gotten me out of a hundred scrapes before, and I know I can trust you.” Jim let out a small self-depreciating chuckle. “I hope I can trust you, anyway. And I know that you’ve always been a genius. I mean – “ He looked up again, and Spock said nothing. Spock’s silence was _really_ starting to nerve him out. Jim sucked in some air.“I – We – “ He was raising his hand, displaying his wedding ring out to Spock. The light coming from the windows struck it, making it glint. “I mean, I do know you pretty well. I’d say.”

Spock said nothing, but his eyes were on Jim’s hand. Jim was suddenly awash with a blush, certain that he’d just stuck his foot in his mouth. He hadn’t even _meant_ to reveal the marriage tidbit – that was too much, Jim knew that now, but Spock had a way of remaining _silent._ And Jim just kept _talking._ But Jim wasn’t in the business of half-truths. He wasn’t going to hide things from Spock, even now.

His mouth had gotten him into this situation. His mouth could also get him out of it. How many times had he held a hand out, to keep Sulu from offering a Security-esque solution, and talked themselves out of being fired upon?

That, Jim was certain, was what impressed Spock the most. More than the strategic skill, more than the multitasking ability, more than anything else that Starfleet Academy had given him – nothing stupefied Spock more than Jim’s ability to talk himself out of trouble. The same couldn’t always be said for domestic spats, though. Sometimes he’d driven Spock to visible frustration because – golden tongue or not – Jim didn’t know when to give in.

“I can prove it.” Jim blurted out, pushing himself up to the edge of the couch. Spock immediately shifted himself back, his back pressing against the chair in a movement reminiscent of a cornered animal. _Scared._ Jim couldn’t see it written on the face, but it was clear that Spock was internally freaking the fuck out. “No. Nope. I’m not lying to you, I’m not – _threatening you._ It’s okay. I can prove it. Okay. When you were eight, you had this pet –”

Before Jim could continue, Spock’s communicator started to buzz loudly on the counter. It was a song. Jim’s eyebrows furrowed – he knew it, he did – before realizing that it’d been top of the charts when he’d been young. Hell, it might’ve very well been the top of the charts that year. A pop song detailing the singer’s one-night-stands and backstabbing friends started to play loudly through Spock’s small, humanish apartment.

Jim could see who was calling on the large glass screen from here. Amanda Grayson.

The mother Jim had never met. The mother that had been taken away from Spock so soon.

It was a gut punch. He hadn’t even thought about it, not seriously, that Vulcan was completely fine. His shoulders slumped on the couch. Spock had always been sad, in a way, that Jim had been unable to meet his mother personally. Spock had even remarked that he would be positive Amanda would love him.

Spock had met Jim’s own only once, at their wedding. The interaction had been as excruciating and awkward as Jim had predicted it would be. She had wished them well. Spock had thanked her. There had been thirty seconds of silence before Jim slapped a hand on Spock’s shoulder and told him that they’d forgotten something in the next room.

Spock had told him stories of Amanda, of course. The stories were always tinged with a little regret – most of the stories had been when Spock was very young, practically a child, never from when he had grown a little older. There had been a time, Spock had said, when he had ignored his mother. Apparently, she had been the only one to reach out when he first left for Starfleet Academy. And he didn’t speak to her for the first few years of his coursework.

At the time, Jim had assumed that it was because Spock had thrown himself into his studies, like he threw himself into everything he did.

Now … looking at Spock, looking at how angry he was, how resentful …

“Ignore that,” Spock groused as he reached for his communicator. Quickly, he rejected the incoming hall and the entire apartment fell silent. Jim made a noise of frustration. _You don’t know how much you’re going to regret that in a few years._

“What? Spock, that’s your _mom._ Don’t just hang up on her.” He reached forward and snatched the communicator from the table. It wasn’t hard to find the most recent call and to return it. “She’s just _worried_ about you. You know? Her only child?”

Something angry flashed in Spock’s eyes, and he legitimately snarled at Jim as he snatched the communicator away. Jim took a step back defensively. “Hell – screw – _damn_ my mother,” he scowled. The call had just gone through, and Jim heard a quick, confused greeting of ‘Spock?’ before Spock ended the communications. “Only child? You know _nothing_ about me.”

The communicator sat on the table between them, blank. Jim was tempted to dive for it again, but he wasn’t confident that it wouldn’t dissolve into an all out fistfight between them if he did.

Besides, there were more important things to address. Jim bored his eyes into Spock’s. “Spock, that’s your _mom._ You love her,” he stood, hands facing Spock palm-up in a surrendering gesture. He didn’t want to fight. Spock _did_ love his mother. He grieved her still. Every year, around certain days – the destruction of Vulcan, her birthday, his birthday – Jim could feel misery and regret wash over their strained bond. It made him feel sick with the need to help his bondmate, but there were things he just couldn’t _fix._

_Or._

Maybe he could.

“What are you doing?” Jim asked in a general sort of sense – what the _hell_ was this? Ignoring his mother for _what,_ exactly?

Spock growled at him, actually growled like some sort of beast. Humans couldn’t replicate that sort of sound half as well. He took two strides towards Jim, getting too close all at once. Jim didn’t back down, temporarily forgetting the situation he was in – that he had to prove to Spock that he wasn’t just some crazy guy Spock picked up from a bar. Maybe he _should_ have left the marriage thing until later.

Now, all he could focus on was Spock’s mother’s _voice,_ the confused ‘Spock?’ on the other line. Her voice sounded nice. Soft. Spock had played a few recordings of her for him, but that was nothing to hearing it in person _._ Some people just sounded like good people. How many times had his bondmate wished he could hear her calling for him, one last time, and this jackoff just _ignored_ \--

“Get out.” Spock was firm. “Leave my home. _Now.”_

“ _Spock,”_ Jim replied in exasperation. He stepped forward and put a hand on Spock’s shoulder without thinking of it. He had done the same action a thousand times, not only with Spock but with nearly every member of the crew when they were in some amount of distress. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, here, but you have to listen to me. You’re going to _regret_ that later. Call her back. She loves you.”

Without any warning, Spock raised his hands and _shoved_ Jim hard. It wasn’t a particularly skilled shove – clearly a move to get Jim back rather than to actually injure him - but Jim hadn’t been expecting it. His Vulcan pacifist bondmate took his principles _very_ seriously.

He stumbled back, his calves hitting Spock’s coffee table. A few of the magazines spilled to the ground. Jim almost toppled over on it, but Spock nonetheless continued his advance. Jim caught himself and looked up at the Vulcan. Was he going to hit him _again?_ Jim blinked at him in shock.

Spock may have surprised him a thousand times in the last twenty-four hours, but the self-hating, greasy-looking man had just surprised him again. Spock may have punched a stranger in a club, but this was _Jim._ They were _t’hy’la,_ for God’s sake, and Jim felt strangely betrayed that Spock couldn’t see it right away. That he couldn’t just look hard into Jim’s eyes and know that, so much as a thing like that _existed,_ they were soulmates. The loves of each other’s lives. But, no. Spock looked like he was about ready to cock his fist back.

Either way, it was clear that Jim had blown his chance. Diplomacy failed.

Jim’s held his hands out to Spock in surrender. No, he wasn’t going to get into a fistfight with him, if only because Spock could whoop his ass a thousand ways to Sunday. The only reason Vulcans didn’t rule the galaxy, Jim had once joked to Spock, was because they didn’t want to get their knuckles dirty. “Okay. I’m leaving, I’m leaving.”

Stepping away from the table, Jim surveyed Spock’s apartment one last time like the answer to his problem could be found in a second-year Starfleet Academy student’s home. Even now, Jim realized that the clutter around the apartment seemed so _precise._ Spock’s human act, for whatever it was worth, seemed paradoxically to be the most controlled act that Jim had ever seen in him. How much of it, Jim considered, was an act and how much was an actual outlet for his anger and betrayal?

Spock cleared his throat and folded his arms by his chair, the empty breakfast plate and the communicator still sitting on the table. His eye makeup was smudged already. The raccoon-esque appearance, at first endearing, now made Jim feel sad for the guy. Jim didn’t know how to help a man who was so clearly in distress.

He opened the front door to Spock’s department. It was standard Starfleet fare for second or third year instead of the dormitories that they stuck everyone else in. Stepping through, Jim stuck his hands in his pockets as he considered his next course of action. He heard the door whoosh behind him, and – just like that – Spock was gone from his life.

Despair was tempting but useless.

There were still a few hours of daylight left, at least. Jim stepped into the turbolift. The outer portion of it was made of curved glass. At least ten stories up, it gave Jim a beautiful view of San Francisco. He saw Starfleet Academy, the beautiful park grounds that Jim had walked a million times, saw his old apartment building, saw the city that had felt more like home than Riverside, Iowa ever had. Cadets spilled all around the city; Jim could see clusters of red, yellow, and blue around the campus.

When he’d been given the _Enterprise_ – awful circumstances aside – he’d been sad to leave San Francsico. He’d never been sad to leave Riverside in the same way.

Jim tilted his head on the glass. Starfleet Academy was his best bet, wasn’t it? In that sense, he was lucky. He could’ve woken up to wheatfield Riverside and had _no_ idea what to do. Although looking for the nearest transport ship was tempting, Starfleet Academy was the biggest archive of scientific research. He couldn’t give up just because Spock didn’t trust him.

He needed to investigate what could have caused this and find a way to get back. They hadn’t known much about temporal anomalies in 2251, but damn it, Jim had been through a dozen on his own and he could make it work.

It just would’ve been a lot easier with a scientific genius, with specializations in astrophysics and computer engineering. But said scientific genius was more likely to punch him in the face right then than provide any sort of concrete help.

As the turbolift shifted downward, Jim closed his eyes and tried to will the stress out of his shoulders. “Ah, Spock,” he mumbled to himself. He tapped his ring finger against the bar of the turbolift, hearing the reassuring clink of it against the metal. Again, he tried to reach out through the bond and – while he felt nothing in return – nevertheless found comfort trying. “I’m gonna come get you, baby. I’m gonna fix this. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the Robotnik vine that goes '*sighs* I miss my wife, Tails, I miss her a lot'? I imagine that playing on a loop in the back of Jim and Spock's minds the entire time this fic.
> 
> Another update, happy new year all! Baby Spock's a mess in this fic - while I do appreciate when authors incorporate Jim's tragic backstory, I always feel like there's this symptom in fics where Jim had his "wild period" trying to cope (that's even alluded to in the reboot movies, painting Jim as this barfighting playboy) and Spock was always just Spock, no matter what he had to go through. And I always liked the idea of playing around that, where Spock is now forced to seriously question his identity instead of adhering to the identity placed upon him.
> 
> Thanks all for reading -- see you next Saturday!


	6. Somewhere in Nebraska, 2251

Spock was very quickly coming to the conclusion that he did not like driving.

They had been in the car for nine hours and forty-seven minutes, and were currently in the area of the planet known as Nebraska. From what Spock could personally tell, it had not changed much from Iowa. Frankly, he would not have known unless the large digital sign on the side of the road hadn’t welcomed them. It was a long stretch of straight road – behind them, in front of them. The wheat fields had been replaced by corn some time ago.

It was still daylight, though probably not for too much longer. The unending sun was pleasant enough to him, however. Spock unfolded his limbs from the passenger’s seat and clasped his hands in his lap. They had long ago lapsed into comfortable silence. Perhaps the adrenaline from Jim’s initial reckless decision had worn off. Spock wondered if he was regretting it. It was too late to turn around, after all – Spock would simply take to walking if Jim had second thoughts now.

“Do you know how much longer it will be, Jim?” Spock asked, voice rusty from disuse. He cleared it.

Jim glanced at him. His driving had improved considerably, though Spock privately thought that he was still driving too quickly. They had passed no other cars for some time. Occasionally they would encounter larger transport vehicles, and to Spock’s frustration, Jim would blast the horn whenever he passed them. As a show of greeting, he explained, but Spock did not find that very logical. Such a loud noise would inspire anger in the other drivers, if anything. “No idea.” Jim pursed his lips and trilled them. “I’m also only reasonably sure that we’re going the right way.”

That made Spock jolt to attention, resting his hands on the dashboard. “ _Reasonably sure,_ Jim?”

“Don’t pop a blood vessel. I know where Iowa is. I know where California is. We go west. We’ll stop by a diner in a little bit and make solid plans later. Ease back up.”

Spock forced himself to relax back in his chair, though he was not perfectly satisfied with Jim’s answer. With Jim on his left, Spock could not help but notice the similarities between this automobile and a shuttle. There was indeed a driver’s seat and a passenger’s seat and a variety of knobs and buttons in front of him.

His mind travelled back to his shuttle trip, just before he’d been sent back in time. How he’d started a sexual encounter with his bondmate. How the first projectile had sounded when it glanced across the top of the shuttle. _If you had focused in your seat,_ Spock wondered guiltily, _Would you have noticed it before?_

He would not, Spock was logically certain. The anomaly had come out of nowhere. But blaming himself was easier, and inspired him to action, and so Spock preferred to soak in it.

“Probably not the sort of transport you’re used to, huh,” Jim remarked. The top of the car had been replaced at Spock’s insistence. If Jim was going to continue at that speed, then it would have to go up. He could hardly hear Jim with the wind in his ears otherwise, and eating live bugs was not within the Vulcan diet. “Do you pilot much? You know.’ He waved his hand toward the sky. “Up there.”

“I have piloted both a shuttle and a starship before. Both _up there._ ” Spock returned truthfully, leaning against the window. “I am rather skilled at it.” He saw it more as a means to an end than anything truly enjoyable. Jim, on the other hand, liked to show him ‘tricks’ with shuttle piloting every now and then. To his deep irritation.

“I bet. So, is it like, a team of renegade Vulcans? Or are you just the smart guy on the renegade team? Is there a Klingon? Is he the tough guy?”

Full of questions. Spock waved his hand in dismissal. “I am the only Vulcan aboard,” he answered primly. Although he had tried to remain as truthful as possible (it made the lies easier to remember), that came with the caveat of being unusually taciturn. Spock supposed it worked wonders for this strange ‘rebel without a cause’ backstory Jim had given him.

It was silly, of course. Absurd. But Spock could nevertheless feel a small burst of amusement at Jim’s expense for believing that about him – the Jim that had once accused him of never having fun in his life.

“And I am the only ‘smart guy’ on the team,” he added.

Jim chuckled. “Would the other members of your team be upset to hear that?”

“It is their prerogative.”

“Yeah.” Jim’s expression turned thoughtful. “Do you miss them?”

_Vulcans do not ‘miss’. That is an expression of feeling, which Vulcans do not possess or display. It would be more rational to say that they fulfilled many useful roles in my life, and to be without them makes me less efficient in my tasks._

Even as he thought that – the same words that he had learned and recited and written a thousand times over in his childhood – Spock was remembering something else entirely.

Jim’s face flashed through his head, a confident grin in a risky situation. Uhura, making quiet, sarcastic comments as they basked in the shade. Bones glaring at the other players with an expression more suited to a Klingon battlefield.

“Yes,” Spock returned lowly, his gaze falling to his lap, “I miss them very much.”

He _ached._

The car started to slow. In surprise, Spock looked up to see Jim’s face, grim with determination, foot on the brake. “What is the meaning of this?” Spock asked as they slowed to a full stop and pulled over to the side of the road. A corn stalk pressed against Spock’s window.

“Uh-uh. None of this missing people garbage. No sappy shit in the getaway car. I’m gonna teach you how to drive to take your mind off it.”

Oh. Driving with … an engine. Spock looked at the clutch, at the pedals by Jim’s feet, and then returned his gaze to the dashboard. “No thank you.” Next to him, Jim groaned.

‘You’re not gonna make me drive the _entire_ time, are you? Come on.” He pressed his door open and stood out in the road. Spock was ready to lecture him about standing in the middle of the street in such a manner, but as far as he was concerned, it seemed as if they were the only two people in the state. Unwillingly, Spock got out of the car and sidestepped the outcropping of corn.

Jim slid over the hood and patted Spock’s shoulder appreciatively. “Try not to kill us, okay?” He asked. With a feeling of dread settling in his stomach, Spock walked over to the driver’s side and slid inward.

They lost time over the next several hours, to Spock’s mild frustration. Driving, Spock learned, was a fantastic amount of trial and error. Jim was surprisingly patient in the endeavor, even as Spock caused them to be idling in the center of the highway many times. This patience was occasionally punctuated by teasing laughter or mocking jabs given his way.

At a certain point, the top of the car was pulled back again and they were exposed to the open air. Spock’s reluctance to go even half the speed limit, combined with his hesitant pauses as he heard the engine rev too loudly. This was not like a starship, nor a shuttle. Both of those drove comparatively smoothly to this twisted metal monstrosity. The red hood glinted in the sun and caught in his eyes. He did not like this.

Eventually, Spock settled into a tense pattern of driving. He did not prefer to drive. Nor did he prefer driving with Jim’s eyes trained on him. At least the road was straight, with little other objects to act as obstacles. Every so often Spock would stiffen as he saw a small rodent skitter across the road, but otherwise, he continued.

The Nebraskan sun shown above him, spreading warmth across his head and shoulders. There were few clouds in the sky, the occasional puffy white shape causing vast shadows on the ground. Other than the engine, and the occasional laugh from his companion, Spock heard nothing. Even Jim fell back into silence after about an hour, before breaking it himself.

“Do you take constructive criticism?” Jim finally asked conversationally, curled up on his seat. Spock didn’t spare a glance to him, and also did not respond. He sighed and leaned over to put a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “ _Relax._ Relax this. You’re hunched over the wheel. Seriously, Selek, you’re doing fine! I’m worried about your blood pressure.”

Jim pushed him back into the chair, and Spock forced his shoulders to relax. He was tall enough that reaching the pedals was not an issue, but this was so _different_ from a shuttle.

Still, he could see why it was enjoyable. Pressing the gas and hearing the engine roar in response … there was something stimulating about it. Perhaps he could see why Jim enjoyed it so. Not that he would ever admit as much. His companion started to relax, leaning his head against the side of the car. Yes, driving this car almost felt brutish, which is why he was sure Jim liked it so.

“Hey,” Jim started out, shouting to be heard over the wind. “I kinda wanna apologize! For back there. With Frank. I get Vulcans don’t do emotional situations, or drunks, or – you know. Sorry that you got uncomfortable!”

 _Oh._ Ten hours away from Riverside and Jim wanted to have this conversation _now._ Spock glanced over at him, but the young man seemed to be sulking with his face turned outside the window. No sappy shit in the getaway car, indeed.

“It is true that I do not have much experience with them. Vulcans do not typically express emotions that way,” he admitted, half-shouting into the wind, and that was true. “I find most human interaction very unintuitive. Vulcans also have very low rates of alcoholism. And, for that matter, child abuse.”

Jim had went silent in the passenger’s seat next to him. Spock could not say whether it was the smartest move for the timeline, but he was faintly pleased that he, at least, had gotten Jim away from _that._ He nevertheless felt something twist painfully inside of him and continued nevertheless:

“Vulcans mostly express emotion through a telepathic bond, instead of through verbal or physical interaction. This bond can share dreams, emotions, thoughts. They are typically done between bondmates, siblings, and parents. It’s considered vital for a young Vulcan’s mental and emotional health.”

Jim nodded in understanding, but Spock was unsure of how much he actually understood. It was a strange concept for humans, he knew. To have someone in his head had been a terrifying concept for his Jim initially, and the reason why they waited several years of courtship before bonding.

Even then, after the marriage, after the formal public bonding ceremony, while they were curled up in their quarters to forge the actual bond- there had been uncertainty, in his bondmate’s head. Anxiety. It had dissipated almost immediately when the actual bond had been made, when Jim realized it was not an invasion of privacy but a warm touch, easily pushed away.

That Spock had taught Jim mental shielding for several months beforehand helped enormously, Spock knew. Their bond was also not as strong as it would be in a Vulcan-Vulcan relationship – or even a full Vulcan-human relationship. Spock had never heard Jim’s thoughts. For lack of adequate terminology to describe it, Spock always thought that Jim felt _blurry._ General emotions could be parsed with no real fine detail.

Jim had described it as being able to have Spock in his pocket – to be ignored when he needed to focus on other things, but easily accessed when wanted. Jim had never expressed concern, or distaste, or disappointment for it - and while Spock was grateful, it also made Spock feel quite guilty at times.

“Huh. Did you ever make a telepathic bond with _your_ parents?”

Spock considered this., snapping out of his own thoughts “No,” he admitted. “My telepathic abilities were not present at birth, so the customary familial bond was not created as an infant. Later, it was presumed that the abilities would never be strong enough to form a bond with my human mother, and my Vulcan father refused.”

Truthfully, his abilities had only formed completely in adulthood, far after most children’s familial bonds had been shed. It was too late to form that sort of bond with his mother. He wasn’t certain whether that would have made her death easier, or so much harder.

“Huh. Why’d your Dad say no? If he’s a Vulcan, he could get that sorted out.”

Spock blinked. While the statement had never been stayed out loud, it had been nevertheless obvious. “He believed that my inability to form a telepathic bond was a matter of training and will, not of innate skill,” he remarked. “He was under the presumption that if I trained hard enough, I would be able to form the bond. We tried, on several occasions, but it was never successful.”

Jim didn’t answer next to him, and Spock wondered if he had shared too much. It was so _easy_ to share things with Jim, though. They differed in age, but bore the same face and composure. Above all, it was Jim’s _voice_ that made Spock feel familiar.

Perhaps he _had_ spoken too much. Stuck his foot in his mouth, as the saying went. Vulcan culture could come across as distant, even cruel, to those unused to it.

“ _Wow,”_ Jim finally whistled. “What a dick.”

 _Well –_ perhaps. His relationship with his father troubled him on only brief occasions, now. Thinking about it too much – assessing it from a Human or Vulcan perspective – exhausted him. Sarek had, of course, made errors in his parenting, but to what degree Spock still held those errors against him was … difficult to determine.

He spoke to his father on occasion in polite but not lengthy intervals. They shared updates of New Vulcan and the Federation, if nothing else. Perhaps, for a Vulcan family, that was all they could ever hope for.

In response, Spock gave a very human shrug.

“So you’ve never had this kind of bond with anybody?”

Ah, now _there_ was a decision. Spock could claim to be alone, of course, unattached to anyone but this fictitious mercenary organization Jim thought him to be. But his wedding ring was still heavy around his neck, and he could not guarantee that Jim would not see it before this adventure had finished. Misplacing Jim’s trust would be disastrous.

There was the option of covertly taking it off, flinging it off into the corn fields on either side of the car. That way, he could claim that he was unattached and the risk of Jim somehow finding out that they were married in the future significantly decreased.

He imagined wrapping his fingers around the ring, of tossing the symbol of his Human love to Jim, of watching it settle among the weeds and rats of a field.

No. That would not be happening.

“I have a bond with my spouse,” Spock murmured, tilting his neck to the side to display the thin gold chain against his pale skin. “I wear the wedding ring about my neck.”

“Oh. You’re – you’re married?” Although Spock did not notice the stutter, he nevertheless stiffened at the question. He did not know how much he should reveal, and Jim’s further questions would prove difficult to answer. “What are they like? Do they do the whole – you know, merc thing with you?”

Why on Earth did Jim have to be so _curious?_

“He works with me,” Spock answered vaguely. “As for his personality …” What a strange situation he found himself in. “He is headstrong, in ways that I am not. Selfless, in ways that I could never be. Human, in ways that give me hope.”

Another whistle, this one indicating being impressed. It went on for so long that Spock spared a withering glance at his passenger. There was no call for that. “Cute?”

How absurd. “Very,” Spock answered nonetheless, staring back at the road. Anyone who knew Jim would find ‘cute’ to be a strange term to describe him – the stoic, strong-willed, long-suffering Captain of the Enterprise? But in their association with one another, Spock had seen Jim in more than one soft, childish, relaxed moment. _Those_ were cute.

“Lucky guy. I’m glad you got someone you can, you know. Share a thing with. Can’t say I see the appeal, though. I mean, no offense,” Jim advised, waving a hand in Spock’s direction, “But I can’t _imagine_ tying myself down with person. Uh-uh. You make yourself vulnerable, you get hurt when they leave or get shitty.”

How ironic, really. Spock didn’t let himself think about Jim being hurt _or_ vulnerable. _I did not leave Jim,_ Spock told himself stubbornly. _We were taken apart._

“There is something to be said for stability. Emotional support.”

“Nah. Never had that. Don’t need it. I get why Vulcans do, though, you being all – you know, _internal._ Cerebral. But me? Nah. One person around, _all the time,_ staying in my house, basically knowing everything about you? Needing you all the time? _Nahhhhhh.”_

There was an urge to smile that Spock easily suppressed when Jim stretched out that last syllable. “Perhaps. Is that what you will continue to do in San Francisco? One night stands, is that the Human term?”

“Yeah. I figure I’ll get a nice little bartending job somewhere, get a nice little apartment, and start up my usual antics. Just in a bigger city. Nicer view,” Jim amended. “ _After_ I help you out with your thing. Which, by the way, do you have a better idea of what we’re doing there?”

Jim deserved a better explanation. What they were doing was technically, after all, illegal. But first … “You mentioned stopping at a diner. There is one coming up.” They had passed a digital sign earlier. Strange to think it might have been the only eatery in some dozens of miles. “Would you like to discuss it there?”

“ _Yes!”_ Jim groaned in delight, collapsing back against the seat. “I’m dying for _something._ It’s up here on the right. Now, come on, let’s make sure you know how to turn instead of going in a straight line.”

In the end, getting into the diner’s parking lot had not been too difficult. Spock did not park in a way that was truly _advisable,_ and soon found himself standing in the lot, watching Jim park it appropriately. As soon as he did so, Jim stepped out of the car, bowed to Spock deeply, and then walked up the stairs into the small diner.

It was almost enrobed with the vast corn fields on all sides of it. If it weren’t for the large wooden side on the side of the road advertising it, Spock would have missed it completely. Tucked away like a bee in honeycomb.

Jim strutted into the diner as if he’d been there a thousand times, sliding into a laminated seat. Spock looked around the area curiously. This was outside of his area of expertise. Vulcan did not have ‘diners’ per se, and during his time on Earth … while Spock could admit that there _would_ have been a time in his life where he would’ve entered such a diner for the human experience, they were few and far between in San Francisco. When Spock sat down on the chair, it made a strange squeaky noise. Everything, at least, smelled of disinfectant.

“Here,” Jim offered, thrusting a slightly sticky menu screen at him. “You take your time to figure out what you want, Mr. Vulcan.”

Spock’s eyes traversed across the dinner. There were few patrons. A farmer and her wife were sitting in the corner, both clad in overalls. A lone man in casual attire. A woman with three young children, one sitting in a high chair. A waitress behind the counter, speaking to what Spock presumed to be a regular. It was irrational to think that they were staring at him, even if the child in the highchair seemed to be transfixed by him and his companion. Spock tugged down his beanie self-consciously. _Would you please not mention that I am a Vulcan so loud?_

“What? It’s not like Vulcans aren’t allowed around here. But fine, ix-nay on the Ulcan-vay,” Jim remarked, “It’s not like that they’re gonna _realize_ you’re on the run. You think these people watch intergalactic news?” He reached for the small containers of butter and jelly and began to stack them, distracted, on the table.

“ _Jim,”_ Spock muttered in frustration. _There are far greater implications to the timeline if I attract attention._ Still, he dropped his gaze and looked at the menu. “For your information, it is not as if Vulcans are truly picky eaters. We have simply not used animals for agriculture in several hundred years. Our diet is based on grain and vegetables.”

“Yeesh.”

At that moment, the waitress came around. “Haven’t seen you around these parts before, darlin’.” Spock raised his head to realize that the statement had been addressed to him directly. “What brings you around here?”

He opened his mouth to answer – _we are visiting the local area, madam –_ but before he could get a word out, Jim’s hand had dashed out to grasp his shirt-covered wrist. Spock instinctively jerked his hand, but did not pull away.

“Aw, me and my husband are local … beekeepers,” Jim blurted out, “Going to the farmer’s market to try and sell some honey. We’re from Iowa.”

 _What?_ Spock spared a look towards Jim. They did not need a _cover story_ like this, particularly not when that Spock could verify in any way. What did he know of _bees?_ They stung they made honey, Spock was unable to eat their secretions without experiencing a mild buzz.

The waitress looked between the two of them, perhaps in surprise. Whether it was because there was a Vulcan present in the middle of nowhere … or perhaps it was because Jim did not look a day over eighteen and Spock was clearly much older than that. Jim’s smile did not shift from his face.

Spock reached on the inside of his shirt and wrapped his fingers around the small gold chain, extracting his ring. It twirled slowly in the dim light of the diner. Jim had made it clear that they didn’t _have_ to have a ring at all, much less one in traditional gold, but Spock knew what Jim wanted, deep down in his mind. And it was something that Spock wanted to give to him.

A traditional ring, for a traditional love that Jim never thought he would have. Spock had ended up being grateful for it in his own way, perhaps even more than his spouse was. This ring was a Human tradition. This ring signified that some part of Spock was Human and loved Jim with humanity, with softness, with emotion. And that was not a _weakness._

Across the table, Spock caught Jim staring at it. There was an expression on his face he couldn’t quite place. Jim’s eyebrows were furrowed, a faint crease on either side of his lips.

“Jim, you appear to have lost your ring,” Spock pointed out wryly, “Foolish of you.”

“Ah. Well, you know. Honey.’ Jim played along with it with skill. “Sticky. Probably in the car somewhere.”

That wrestled a laugh out of the waitress, who brushed her hands over her hips. “Oh, don’t worry about it, dear. I’m married to an Andorian. He’d forget his antennae if they weren’t attached to his head. What can I get for you?”

Relieved that there was no further questioning, Spock respectfully ordered a coffee. At Jim’s pointed look, he additionally requested a bowl of oatmeal. Jim requested an omelet, and the waitress soon left. It was nearly night, but she raised no questions.

“We don’t need cover stories,” Spock spoke in a hushed whisper. “They are not going to be _looking_ for me here.”

“Yeah, but what about in San Francisco? That’s, like, a _city._ Someone might notice your face- I mean, are you wanted by the Federation? I know they don’t take mercenaries very well, Selek.”

Jim’s continued belief into his profession was _irritating,_ but now half a day away from Jim’s home, Spock did not want to shatter it. He did not know what Jim would do if he believed that Spock was simply … a man, who had been recruited by an even younger man to go on a roadtrip.

The idea of telling Jim the truth didn’t even cross his mind. Only a fool would risk the timeline like that. Besides, Jim would think he had lost his mind. _Hello, I’m from the future and also your husband, t’hy’la, come with me if you want to live._ Feh.

“Regardless, I’m telling you that it is unnecessary. We will avoid notice, but we do not need to lie to people. Vulcans do not deceive,” Spock lied. The lie had served him exceptionally well before.

“Must be hard to be a mercenary and not lie,” Jim enthused to himself, “Though I guess you’re mostly the brains there. Making ingenious equipment and stuff.”

Jim invented such ridiculous tales. Spock sighed and looked down on the table. It was going to be a long journey, indeed. “So, tell me about our plan when we get to San Francisco. Tell me all about our daring heist.”

That Jim was so willing to partake in what amounted to a burglary was … concerning. Jim’s eyes were wide and earnest. “Oh, come _on._ You don’t think I’d run off as soon as we got there, right? I’m helping you get – whatever you need to get.”

“You do not know me, and believe me to be a renegade of the law.” Their food was delivered, along with the coffee. Spock fell silent as Jim offered the waitress a compliment and a kind smile. Sugar and cream was pushed towards him, and Spock rejected both. The oatmeal was eaten plain, punctuated with brief sips of black coffee, and Jim stared at him with nothing short of revulsion. “What if I plan to steal something and hurt people? Would you follow me, then?”

“Well, even if I don’t know any good people who drink coffee and eat oatmeal like that,” Jim grouched at him, “I know you’re a good guy.”

“How so?”

“You beat up Frank. Didn’t have to do that. You could kill me, throw me in the corn field and take my car. You didn’t do that.”

“ _Not_ killing does not qualify someone as a good person, simply as killing does not qualify someone as a bad person,” Spock rumbled, and Jim waved him off impatiently.

“Don’t turn this into a debate. What’s the plan? How are we breaking in?”

Sighing, Spock unfolded his hands and rubbed them across the smooth plastic of the table. “We are not breaking in, because I have the access codes.” His eyes shut as he recalled the layout of the lab. It was many years ago now, but a Vulcan’s memory was as well-maintained as a Klingon armory. “Please do not ask me many questions. I will be using the equipment in there to recreate certain astronomical conditions, and then I will be stepping onto the transport pad.” His eyes opened and looked deeply into Jim’s blue ones.

Jim was _fascinated._ He was interested in this almost as much as Spock was – even with much less at stake.

“Oh. So you’re not –” Jim stopped himself, almost disappointed. “We’re not stealing anything? You’re just … you’re just going somewhere. Okay. I won’t ask where, obviously, I just, uh. Yeah. Okay.”

Perhaps Jim wanted something more dramatic. Perhaps Jim realized that there would be an end to this journey, and at the end, he would be an eighteen-year-old man in San Francisco, with nobody.

Spock searched for something that would help. He recalled this time of his life, where he would sit (in a very _human_ fashion, he had been told) on a bean bag chair, where he would sit with a bottle of vodka + chocolate liqueur on his lap, and watch … human holovids. The plots never made much sense to him, but they had been part of his plan of study. _Be_ human. Reject Vulcanism.

“Does it make it better,” Spock asked, “If you think of it as me riding off into the sunset? Inevitable, but ultimately … a happy ending for all involved.”

The disappointment washed over his face and Jim looked up at him, a small smile growing on his face. “Well,” Jim added with a wink, “God knows I live for a happy ending.” The _look_ on his face was the same look Jim gave him when he was making a particularly salacious joke, but Spock could not find the humor or innuendo in what he had said. “So, this might come as a gigantic surprise to you, but I’ve never actually operated a transporter. Or … for that matter, fiddle with astronomical simulations. But my 2nd grade teacher called me a very bright young angel, so I’m willing to learn.”

Ah. That would prove helpful. Spock was ready to attempt it on his own, but there was a reason why most starships had a transporter chief. Many things could go wrong. Transporter deaths were rare, but occurred … especially in unusual phenomena, exactly like what they were trying to replicate. It would be best to have someone on standby, particularly if he were trapped in stasis on a transporter pad. What a horrific and unfulfilling way to die.

“I was an instructor for a time,” Spock murmured. He crossed his arms in thought as he leaned back in the booth. “Do you have a PADD on you? I could teach you some elementary material. Enough to resolve simple errors if things start to go poorly.”

“You trust me to transport you?” Jim asked curiously, and Spock considered it. A young man of eighteen, with no transporter experience, transporting in a non-optimal situation. It was hardly ideal.

But even so …what choice did he have? He could hardly recruit someone else.

“Yes,” Spock intoned. Jim reached into his bag and pulled out a PADD. The blank screen was presented to him. “I do.”

“Then carry me away … teacher.”

The next few hours were spent with Spock carefully writing on the PADD. Diagrams, equations, concepts were put down onto the screen. Spock worried that Jim’s attention span wouldn’t hold, or that he wouldn’t take the subject matter seriously. He was pleasantly surprised when Jim remained rapt, even moreso as Jim requested coffee and steadily made his way through a pot. The questions he asked were sincere and thought-provoking, and Spock found himself getting involved in the subject matter – _transport engineering is hardly my specialty –_ moreso than the urgency of the situation.

 _Why could I not have had this man as a student,_ Spock thought to himself, _instead of the brash, eager-to-prove himself brat that cheated on my exam?_

“Okay. So you’re modifying … thirty-six variables,” Jim eventually concluded. He drank the rest of his third cup of coffee. Spock could practically see the man vibrate in his seat. “Which you won’t tell me about, because …?”

“Because they are technically confidential information.” After all, they were technically Federation secrets about the destruction of the _USS Kelvin._ “And I do not have time to teach you about the advanced astrophysics principles required to understand them.” Spock turned the PADD over and passed them over. “It is more than enough that you know how to man the transporter controls.”

“No chance we could have a test run? Before the incredibly dangerous transport?” Jim asked, and Spock saw some nervous in him. The coffee was not doing well for his nerves. He had mussed his hair seemingly beyond repair; it stuck up at odd angles as if brushed by static electricity.

Spock considered the request. “We will be trespassing, and may not have time. But we will review it again.” That did little to assuage the nervousness, clear on the young man’s face.

Physical affection did not come naturally to him: for his family, for his friends, even for his bondmate. When he had been a very young man, Spock had tried to force himself into it. It was like any other skill, he told himself – practice.

It had not gotten better with practice. It had taken years of knowing Jim, of being his friend, to be comfortable with being affectionate. There was only one man he would _ever_ allow on his lap in front of the crew, after all.

Now, though, Spock considered he could try and support the nervous Jim in front of him, practically a child. Reaching over, he settled his hand on Jim’s shoulder.

Jim was capable of giving the most inspiring speeches. Spock was firmly convinced that Jim could convince him, and the crew of the _Enterprise,_ to do anything. It was one talent that Spock had never been totally capable of performing.

“It will be fine.” Spock told him intently, dark eyes staring. “You have my word.”

The smile Jim sent up to him was almost shy. Spock retrieved his hand back from Jim’s shoulder. “And Vulcans never lie,” Jim muttered, almost to himself, before he pushed the coffee to the side. “We should get going. It’s gonna get dark soon, and we’re going to need to sleep.”

“With the amount of coffee you’ve consumed?”

“Hey, crashing is coming. Speaking of which, I’m gonna pee before we go.” Jim pushed himself up from the table to disappear into the back. Spock stood and gathered his dishes into one pile. He straightened to stare out the window, into the Nebraska wheat field.

His fingers habitually raised to the ring underneath his shirt. He pulled the circle out again and stared at the gold, twinkling in the light. For just a second, the Vulcan’s face softened in longing.

He would find Jim again, and all would be well.

The ring was safely stored back under his shirt as he heard Jim come out into the diner again. Jim waved a farewell to the waitress and suddenly they were out in the dry heat of the cornfields. The _smell_ was terrible – somehow crisp _and_ stale.

Outside, the sun was dipped well under the horizon. Spock could safely note that a sunset-streaked cornfield looked quite similar to a sunset-streaked wheatfield, but a serene quiet had settled over the outside of the diner. It was the lack of wind, Spock suddenly realized. Nothing seemed to move in the breeze, creating an almost stifling atmosphere.

“You okay?” Jim asked as he hopped down the diner stairs, He ran his hand over the hood of the car. “Come on. Only another day or so of driving, then we hit sweet San Francisco. _And_ you can go to whatever mysterious place you’re going.”

Mysterious, indeed. Spock nodded and slid into the passenger seat of the car. Jim started the engine with a roar and pulled out of the lot. He rolled the window down on the car and propped his head up on his hand to stare outside. Just like that, they were on the road with fields on either side of their car again. In a way, it was soothing.

When they were like this, Spock could believe that the plan was as simple as he planned it out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early morning update for you all! My poor yearning Spocko. Thanks for all who've read and left comments, it's really quite nice to see everyone's reaction! Also as an aside, wonderful @striderepiphany drew goth!Spock and I just wanted to bring attention to this lovely work: https://twitter.com/striderepiphany/status/1346378690477793281
> 
> Have a good Saturday, all!


	7. Somewhere in San Francisco, 2251

Contrary to popular belief, Jim Kirk knew his way around a library.

He knew people talked about him during his time at Starfleet Academy. Hell, he’d known what would happen the moment he turned in his enrollment paperwork – just a scaled-up version of the gossip that went down in Riverside. People would talk about him as the son of George Kirk, who in turn was the posterboy of the inherent danger of Starfleet life. _Don’t ever get too comfortable,_ George Kirk’s story warned, _because danger could literally come out of thin air._ _No matter your accomplishments, your strengths, your happy little family – poof!_

Expectations were high, and Jim Kirk was determined to thwart them. Perhaps a little too much. It wasn’t like he had a secret identity – he didn’t put out the airhead playboy persona _intentionally,_ hiding a remarkably sensitive young man who, surprise surprise, enjoyed literature and music and art. He just enjoyed both parts of his life, the social half and the intellectual half. He was _comfortable_ with both parts of his life.

Point was, he just wasn’t going to give a damn about what some jackass from Nowhere Fuckberg XI wanted him to be. It just so happened that while he liked being friendly ( _very friendly,_ on _many_ occasions), he also wasn’t content to blow off a very rigorous program. Many, many nights had been spent in the Starfleet Academy library – usually with Bones sitting right next to him, flicking peanuts or grapes or pretzels into his hair.

He’d also had sex more than once in the study pods. Not with Bones, incidentally, though Bones often heard about it later.

Nobody paid him much mind as Jim walked through the arching doorways of the library. A blast of student desperation hit him square in the face, punctuated with the underlying hint of rust. On the way there, he’d stepped at a replimat and requested a Starfleet cadet uniform – just for fun, or perhaps an homage to his husband, he was proudly bearing the colors for the science track on his shoulders. Science track geeks were _always_ in the library, it was like their breeding ground.

His head was kept down as he navigated his way to a terminal. Without his walking, talking encyclopedia by his side, Jim was going to have to use something considerably less attractive. He looked at the corners of the cubicle. In a few years, Jim Kirk would carve ‘ _JK + DE 4EVER’_ into the metal with an omnitool. A retrohomage. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember who ‘DE’ was now. Oops.

Cheek pressed into his hand, Jim went to the Starfleet databases and searched for temporal technology.

Nothing. At the very least, nothing that was allowed to a cadet’s level of clearance. He supposed it would be another few years before the concept was even touched upon, anyway, largely due to the _Enterprise’s_ influence and Ambassador Spock’s sudden appearance. Jim wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe a _break_ for once in his goddamn life.

Unusual astral phenomena was probably a better start, then. Although he wasn’t a science officer, he’d learned a thing or two. Maybe if he could classify a few _now_ -unknown phenomena into _soon-_ known phenomena, it would be a little easier. _Or,_ Jim feared, a gigantic waste of time.

The alternative was rolling over and accepting his fate, though, and Jim wasn’t going to let that happen.

The hours ticked away while he stayed at his terminal. Research had never suited him the way it had suited Spock. More than once, he’d come down to the science labs to find Spock curled into his station as if he’d been carved out of the metal. _That_ was endearingly attractive, if maybe not good for his posture. _This_ settled an anxiety into his bones that he couldn’t quite get rid of, which started to bloom into paranoia.

Maybe there _was_ no escape. Maybe this wasn’t even true time travel – maybe this was just some cruel trick by some species or another, or maybe this was just the last firing synapse of a rapidly dying brain. Jim’s breathing quickened as he stared at the terminal, looking at article after article. _Maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe._

The sun had set outside the large windows of the library, causing the interior lights to flick on. It was artificially bright, none of the simulated warmth that the _Enterprise_ lights exuded or Earth’s own sun. It was almost like he was in a laboratory, and he just … _were there eyes looking at him? Was someone watching him?_

Jim glanced over his shoulder, startled, before he let out a groan of disgust at himself. It was a _statue._ God, he’d forgotten that statue was on this floor. Big ugly thing, carefully keeping watch on all the sweaty cadets.

“Hey, Dad,” he muttered, so quietly that nobody could ever hope to hear him, and returned to his terminal. George Kirk, bust carved out of marble, didn’t respond as it watched him from the corner. The plaque said something brave about his service, and a description of the loss of the _USS Kelvin_ by ‘senseless tragedy’.

And it would _remain_ senseless for the next decade or so, until Jim himself got involved in that entire mess. Nobody would ever guess that it’d been a time-travelling Romulan.

Wait. Jim’s eyes widened.

He turned back towards the terminal and started to type. The case of the _USS Kelvin_ was eighteen years old, of course, but so astronomically unusual that he doubted it was closed for investigation. Up until that point, it’d been the weirdest stuff in the _galaxy._ There had always been a strange tension in the Admirals over it – if the Romulans were capable of _that,_ were they gearing up for war?

 _Maybe,_ just maybe, if he recreated the circumstances – the sensor readings from the suddenly-appearing Romulan vessel – he could catapult himself back into the present. His present. It might’ve been a reach, but it was his only knowledge of time travel that’d been investigated by the Federation.

It was just a matter of getting the sensor readings, Jim figured, and those _had_ to be on file somewhere. The data from when the _USS Kelvin_ had disappeared.Even if he didn’t have access to them, maybe he could figure out who did. It was, if anything, a lead that he didn’t have before.

Just as he started to perform his research again, he heard an announcement buzz throughout the room – _“The library will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please take all your materials up to the front desk for check out.”_

Shit, it was much later than he had thought, wasn’t it? Jim pressed his palms into his eyes, somewhat dry from staring at a terminal for most of the day. He would have to make another move tomorrow. Finding somewhere to sleep tonight was next on the agenda. Standing, Jim vacated the library.

He felt better about remaining more-or-less covert during nightfall. Here, his shoulders bumped against a few dozen cadets stomping back to their dormitories for the night, and nobody looked at him twice. Just another Human Starfleet cadet, one of thousands in the city. Maybe a little older than most, and certainly more handsome than most, but still. Starfleet remained obnoxiously Human, though Jim was pleased that it was starting to change, at least a little, in his time.

And _Spock,_ someday, was going to be the first Vulcan Starfleet Captain. Jim liked to tell him that, anyway, but it was usually met with a roll of the eyes.

Instead of remaining on campus, Jim retreated back into the city proper. Night life was rising from the grave. Bright clubs spilled people out onto the street. Flashing neon signs were visible from the outside, and Jim chuckled and raised a hand to cover his eyes. It felt like years ago that he’d even run into Spock at the club, much less enter one himself as a cadet. He could still dance, and drink, but he mostly preferred to do so with Spock silently judging from a distance these days.

Either way, it made perfect cover as he ventured further to the city. He didn’t _mean_ to go towards Spock’s apartment building, but as he lost himself in his thoughts, he realized he was heading towards that way anyway. _You’re not going to bother the guy again,_ Jim told himself sternly. He stopped two blocks away and turned around. _You’re not even going anywhere close to bothering the guy. He thinks you’re crazy and he’s not going to be any help. Just let him be._

And so, Jim did. He found himself near the club where he’d come to. At least it was familiar, and apparently swarming with cadets. It meant that he didn’t stand out on the streets as much, and Jim stayed close by. There were places he could go to spend the night, of course, but he was pretty sure – wherever he went – he’d have to give a name. A fake name was a plausible solution, but still seemed unnecessarily risky – especially when most places recognized identities by biometric scan still. James Kirk was in the Starfleet systems, and even if he was undeniably much older than an eighteen year old … no, he wasn’t going to leave a trace of himself being there. He’d slept in worse places than an alley.

Going to the little space between the club and the next building over, Jim sighed and sat down besides the dumpster. It was well into the small hours of the morning, anyway. A few hours wouldn’t do any harm. He tilted his head back against the wall and forced himself to relax. One finger went to fidget with his wedding ring, spinning it around and around his finger until the skin started to chafe.

 _Hey,_ he tried to project across the bond. _Hey, babe. How are you doing?_ It did nothing but make Jim feel a little more miserable about the situation. _Miss you so much. Hope you’re okay._ Before he could stop himself, he thought – _Love, Jim. Wait, no, it’s not a letter, it’s stupid, stop that, stop_ _ **thinking**_ –

Spock would understand. _If_ he even got that projection, which Jim sorely doubted. He tucked his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. This was just a momentary obstacle, and he would rest and be better in the morning. His head fell to the side, resting against a dumpster.

It wasn’t much time at all, an hour at a maximum, before Jim heard someone entering the alley. He cracked his eyes open and blinked a few times in the darkness. There was a figure, partially obscured by the blaring moonlight behind him, and Jim squinted his eyes to get a better look. A gloved hand was extended out from his waist.

Oh. Spock. Still in the chains-and-black look Jim had seen on him in the morning. His hair fell to his shoulders, coming to sharp points against his black leather jacket. He saw something _glinting_ against Spock’s face, and realized with a start that he was wearing … piercings? Spock didn’t have those, yesterday, and Jim wondered if they were fake. It certainly agreed with Spock’s current aesthetic, either way. A lip ring shone, nearly shining against his patchy beard, and he had a bar through one eyebrow. Wow. That was certainly something.

Jim was glad to see him, but he still didn’t take his hand. “What are you doing here?” He asked instead, straightening out his legs.

Spock didn’t say anything. Just kept his hand outstretched.

“Are you going to kiss me if I take your hand again? Because,” Jim wiggled his fingers at him, “Still married.”

He had hoped that would get a smile out of Spock, but it didn’t. Spock’s face was severe in a way that only a Vulcan could be. The hand was not retracted. Jim reached forward and took it. Spock helped him up, sighed, and turned around to head back to his apartment. As he did, he heard Spock mutter out of the side of his mouth: “Hospitality.”

 _Oh._ Right.

Jim had learned about the concept of Vulcan hospitality after they’d returned to New Vulcan for a diplomatic visit. He had asked Spock a question that had been bugging him, but seemed _way_ too insensitive to ask anyone else. After dinner, clad in Vulcan robes and listening to Spock pluck at his lyre, Jim had asked Spock what happened to the orphans. Eager to save their children, parents had ensured that their offspring had boarded the escape pods even when they could not.

Christ, every story that came out of Vulcan had been heart-breaking. He didn’t know how Spock could listen to so many of them.

There had to be so many children left without parents, and Jim hadn’t spotted any sort of youth care centers in the city for them. Certainly none on the street. So, Jim had asked, what was up with that?

Spock had paused, his fingers immobile on the strings of the lyre, and simply answered that it was Vulcan hospitality.

Apparently, in the aftermath of New Vulcan, one of the priorities of the council of elders had been to reassign the children to existing Vulcan families. It would be illogical, Spock had explained, for them to turn someone in need away from their home. Although it was the first time that such a cultural concept had ever been implemented at that large a scale, it was nevertheless expected for Vulcan families to open their homes for those in need.

An injured, sick, lonely, struggling Vulcan could simply knock on the door of another and receive help, at all times. It would be illogical not to. If knocking on the door was simply out of the question, seeing a Vulcan in need of help on the street was enough. There was a cultural expectation to help.

It had seemed so compassionate to Jim. So _warm._ He had remarked as much to Spock, and Spock had responded that logic tended to err on the side of compassion. Those who thought of logic as cold and calculating had forgotten to factor in several crucial variables.

And yet, Jim was struck by it as he hurried after Spock. He didn’t know what Spock thought of him at that moment, but he doubted it was anything good. And still, Spock made sure that Jim was following him as they turned a corner. Spock led him all the way back to his apartment building.

The turbolift offered decent enough lighting as they rose up the floors. San Francisco twinkled outside of the glass. Jim felt Spock’s eyes on him, inspecting the slightly dirtied Starfleet cadet uniform, and he offered the man an apologetic shrug. They did not speak. The turbolift slid to a stop and Spock stepped out, a silent agreement that Jim would follow him.

And Jim did, until he was standing in the same front living room that he’d been in this morning. It hadn’t changed at all. That definitely agreed with Jim’s _careful-precise-messiness_ theory. Spock tossed his bag down on the couch went to the kitchen. The fridge door opened – did that guy have _another bottle_ of vodka? Spock took it out, poured a wine glass full of it (enough to make Jim internally gag), and then mixed in a brown liquid from a smaller vial.

Before he drank, Spock reached up for his face. The eyebrow piercing was removed first, followed quickly by the lip piercing. Clip-ons. Cute. “I don’t believe you,” Spock remarked from the kitchen. He settled back in his chair with a wine glass full of vodka-and-brown-stuff. “But I am going to give you the chance to explain yourself to me.” His legs were spread wide and he had leaned so far back from the chair that it was almost a slump.

“Yeah. Sure, sure,” Jim muttered, scrubbing his hands over his temple. Professional concern won out. “Can I ask what that is, first?” He pointed to the wine glass.

“Vodka.”

“ _Yeah._ Why’s it in a wine glass? And what’s the brown?”

Spock raised the wine glass to eye level, as if to inspect it. He clearly didn’t understand the first question and apparently refused to answer the second. Jim sighed. “You usually don’t drink vodka by the wine glass, Spock. It’s really strong, by human standards. I know you metabolize ethanol like it’s water, but usually humans don’t drink _that_ much of it at once.”

That seemed to genuinely dishearten Spock, his lower lip sticking out in a pout as he lowered the wine glass again.

“Like, a shot glass worth.”

“I see. I made a miscalculation. No,” Spock verbally chided himself, shutting his eyes. It was like he was trying to translate into another language and just couldn’t find the word. Finally, they flew open as he caught it. “I fucked up.”

“No, you didn’t –” Jim raised his hand over his mouth so he didn’t smile at the guy, who was clearly having a difficult time. Spock was struggling, it would be _mean_ to laugh. “No you _didn’t._ I’m not sure why you’re drinking at all. What’s that brown stuff in there, chocolate?”

“Chocolate liquor,” Spock finally admitted. He seemed almost sheepish as he placed the wine glass down. “I determined the annual amount of alcohol that a human Starfleet cadet drinks annually on average, and made the calculations for the equivalencies.”

“ _Why?”_ Jim didn’t expect an answer, because he already knew it. Spock’s desperate attempt to become more human, for better or for worse. He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t imagine that tastes great. You hate the taste of alcohol.”

Spock seemed content to spite him. Jim had momentarily forgotten that they weren’t married, and were certainly not friends. Eyes flashing, he raised the wine glass to his mouth and downed half of it easily. He started to cough, cheeks bursting green at the sensation.

 _I’m going to find you, Spock,_ Jim tried to project over the bond, _and I’m going to give you the biggest goddamn hug you’ve ever had in your life._ _Seriously. I’m gonna break Vulcan rib._

“Cool, really mature,” Jim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, you want proof that I am who I say I am?” His ring felt much heavier on his finger as he tried to think of something that would convince him.

Spock blinked, eyes unfocusing for a second, as he held the wine glass in his hand.

“You’ve never been able to mind-meld. You were saved by a cousin named Selek at age eight and you’ve never been able to find them in your family histories. On your first visit to Colorado Springs when you were nine, you ran away. They found you a bus to Wyoming.”

The wine glass started to wobble. Looking up, Jim caught sight of Spock’s fingers … trembling.

Maybe that had been too much. Jim bit the bottom of his lip in regret and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Sorry. I just wanted to – I don’t know. Make you believe that I’m not delusional, I guess?”

“Do I ever --?’ Spock cut himself off. It was as if the words had escaped him before he meant them to. Jim watched him curiously until he finished the question. “Am I ever able to mind meld?”

That was his first question? There was a fearful curiosity about his voice, more expressive than Jim had ever seen him. He knew he _probably_ shouldn’t reveal details about the future, but he’d already dropped the biggest bombshell – their marriage. That was the logical reason. The emotional reason was that Jim wanted to reassure Spock that it was _all_ going to be okay.

How awful things must’ve seemed for Spock right then, but Jesus, how good his life had gotten.

“Yeah.” Jim answered. “Yeah, you do. With me, actually. You’re just a late bloomer. Our bond’s a little weaker than most Vulcan pairs, but we’ve still got it. Works just fine when we’re close by.”

Pausing, Spock seemed to consider it. He sort of _felt_ bad, honestly – he was sure he didn’t look all that appealing to be married to him right them. Intently, Jim added: “For what it’s worth, you’re super happy.”

“Where am I? You – he,” Spock finished lamely. “Have I died?”

“No. _God,”_ Jim grunted fervently, “I hope not. I’m trying to get back to my time to figure out what happened. But no. I don’t think you’re dead. I still have it. The bond. Just can’t feel anything out of it, right now.”

“Dead weight.” It was muttered as Spock dipped his head towards his chest.

Even if this was an earlier version of his spouse, Jim wasn’t going to allow that. He looked up at Spock with a determined glance in his eye. “ _Look._ I know – obviously, you’re going through something,” Jim offered with a wave towards Spock’s entire image, “But Spock – and the bond I’ve got with him – means more to me than anything else in the universe. He’s the love of my life. We’re t’hy’la.”

It was the first time that he’d ever gotten the pronunciation correct. He’d even bungled it during the actual wedding. And now, his Spock wasn’t even around to see it. Typical.

Spock visibly flinched at the term.

“And I probably committed a gigantic temporal mistake in telling you all this. But I’m a Captain, and I don’t have a starship. This is a science officer problem, and I don’t have a science officer.” Jim related to him. “So you see I’m stuck, and – if you have any help to offer, I’d appreciate it.”

Jim had gotten _very_ good at reading Spock’s face over the years. Even before Spock twitched a muscle, Jim could read a thousand microexpressions on his face. Jim considered himself a fairly expressive person, actually, constantly watching and interpreting the situation around him.

It didn’t hold a candle to the agape Spock look was giving him now. The intention was clear: _sorry, do you expect me to be an_ _ **expert**_ _in time travel,_ _jackass?_

“I have a lead!” Jim reassured, hands thrusting forward in his defense. “I’m not expecting you to do anything. I just want some information.” He ran his hands down his knees. “Do you know anything about the _USS Kelvin?”_

Spock composed himself and nodded, slouching back in his chair. His eyes were far away, still, and Jim guessed he was lucky that Spock wasn’t completely shutting down with the information given to him. Jim certainly would, if given half the information that he’d told Spock. Him, married. To a Vulcan. Captain of his own starship.“Do you think you can tell me where I might be able to find the sensor readings from that mission?”

Spock knew.

He made no indication that he knew, of course, but Jim knew how to read him. When Spock didn’t know something, he got a very _light_ shade of pissy. His shoulders would hunch forward or his feet would point away or he would bite the inside of his lip just so. In front of him, Spock was giving him his best equivalent of a poker face, which meant that he was trying to determine what sort of leverage he had.

“I do know. What use does it have for time travel?”

 _Hey. Your planet gets destroyed in fifteen years and I’m not even sure if it’s selfish of me to not try to prevent it or not._ Jim pulled a hesitant face, and Spock persevered. “It affects my future. I see. May I ask several questions about yourself?”

“I also affect your future, for the record. Just, the Kelvin – it’s in a big way. This,” Jim motioned, gesturing between him and Spock, “Is necessary, because I need you to trust me. I’m not going to tell you big things about the galaxy. _That_ feels like a stupid idea. That’ll … that’ll fuck some things. But, um, sure. Questions about me seems … fine.”

“I have only two before I’ll answer your question.”

“What a bargain.”

“We are married _and_ bonded. Did my father approve of the match?”

Jim snorted at that. He recalled when he first told Sarek that he was with Spock. It hadn’t been a surprise by then, Jim hoped. He’d accompanied dinners with him and Spock far more often than a friendly arrangement would imply. Still, Sarek had made a slightly withering comment that there would be many individuals on New Vulcan who would be disappointed to hear of it, and that had been the first Jim had _ever_ heard of _that._ “Uh,” he remarked, and a juvenile glee lit up in Spock’s eyes.

“Good.”

 _That_ was a minefield Jim wasn’t going to navigate. Spock talked to Sarek about professional concerns, but not generally for any personal reason. He didn’t seem _displeased_ to talk to him, but any of Spock’s emotional problems never reached Sarek’s ears. It was like he spoke to a coworker – or perhaps even a boss. Not someone he disliked, really, but someone he deferred to and held no warmth towards. That they were one another’s only family only encouraged communication, Jim thought, and he knew that Sarek was his main line for what was happening in the family. It didn’t seem like a bad relationship, just. Distant.

This relationship, between this Spock and his father, seemed _much_ more hostile.

“Am I more Vulcan or Human?”

Another minefield question. Jim supposed he was really earning his information. He took a deep breath and considered it. “You’re not, um, this.” There was a gesture towards Spock’s outfit, towards the wine glass on the table. “I couldn’t say whether you were 51% Vulcan and 49% Human or completely both or completely neither. I don’t think you know, either. But you’re happy. You’re comfortable, I guess.”

Spock took that information and absorbed it. Two fingers reached up to grasp a lock of hair, twirling it around his fingers in thought. Wow, his makeup had managed to get smudged up to his eyebrow. That was, frankly, impressive.

“I sound less crazy in my time,” Jim tacked on, “Promise.”

Spock shot him a look that was painfully similar to his future self’s – withering amusement. “Somehow, I doubt that.” He sighed loudly and pushed himself back on the couch. “But, two questions. I did agree. Yes, I know where you can find the sensor readings of the _USS Kelvin._ I recently began work in a laboratory, ostensibly to investigate warp field effects on local space-time distortions – they currently have a side project where they are investigating astronomical phenomena that occurred while the Kelvin was being destroyed. It was _highly_ unusual, unlike what has ever been measured before, so they are keen to know whether the Romulans had advanced technology or not. The readings are kept in that laboratory.”

That Starfleet had a covert lab set to investigate the _USS Kelvin_ wasn’t surprising, nor that Spock worked in such a laboratory. Starfleet had certain virtues, but they weren’t exactly transparent at the best of times. Jim took a deep breath. “You know the codes to get in?”

“I do.” Spock’s voice was carefully controlled, even as the light green tinged his cheeks. He knew what Jim was asking for, and it was very, very illegal.

Jim reached for a PADD on the table. “Great. Guess I’m breaking into a Starfleet laboratory. If you could, um, write them down – I don’t want to give you any more details. I don’t want to make you complicit in this, Spock, in case I’m caught.” In case he was caught and thrown in a holding cell, which would be … pretty bad for the whole ‘staying low’ thing. “I don’t want you to have to lie for me. I know – obviously, Vulcans lie, but I know you don’t like to.”

“I’m going with you.” It was spoken as soon as Jim uttered the world ‘Vulcan’, and he wondered if that had any effect on Spock’s reasoning. But Spock seemed eager, leaning forward in his lab again. “If you need the readings, then you’ll need someone who knows how to access the files. I’ll …” He trailed off, voice faint, before regaining its strength. “I’ll break in with you.”

“Spock. I _can’t_ ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking me to do anything. I’m doing it. It’s very human, isn’t it?” Spock relayed, a half-smile forming on his face. “Breaking and entering. Potential vandalism of Starfleet property.”

He had to begrudgingly admit while it may not have been Human, it was at the least very un-Vulcan and he didn’t think Spock cared about the difference. “Just … be careful? I know you’ve got a lot you’re dealing with, you know, mentally. I don’t want you to ruin your career because you’re mad. At the world.”

God, he sounded just like Pike. How did he get to the stage in his life where he sounded so old?

Spock apparently disagreed with the sentiment, wrinkling his nose at him as he downed the rest of the wine glass. He curled up in his chair and settled his head on the back of it. “Whatever, man,” Spock groaned, shutting his eyes. _Night-night, drunky,_ Jim thought to himself with a twinge of sadness.

“Why did you come to me? In the alley?” Jim asked curiously, and Spock cracked open one eye to look at him. “I mean, _Vulcan_ hospitality. And you’re not exactly trying to act … Vulcan.”

“I was going back to the club. Trying to …” Spock gestured towards Jim (more particularly, towards Jim’s crotch). “And then I changed my mind, so I started to walk back to the apartment. Then I thought I might as well go and try to, again. Then I changed my mind and started to walk back to the apartment.”

“You were pacing.”

“Perh – maybe. I kept seeing you. Sitting there, in the mud. And I couldn’t just – even if it was Vul –” Spock cut himself off with a frustrated hiss as he pushed himself out of the chair. He was agitated, restless hands fidgeting with the gloves on either side. “I’m going to bed. We’ll go to the lab in the morning. Replicate a different cadet uniform in the morning and I’ll pretend you’re one of the workers there. Is that agre – “ Another agitated noise, this one sounding more like a cat that had just been dipped in water. “ _Cool?”_

Maybe the future timeline was more rugged than he hoped, because he couldn’t just sit his hands on this. “Spock,” he urged softly. “You don’t need to act like that, you know. Not around me. I know who you are, and you’re the greatest guy I know. You don’t have to choose between your sides. You don’t _have_ sides. It’s not like I can split you down the middle. I know just acting like yourself hasn’t always worked out the greatest for you in the past, but I _promise_ you’re going to meet people who consider you family. _Please_ don’t tear yourself apart like this because Vulcan, or Sarek, or whoever, didn’t accept you.”

Spock stopped in the hallway between his living room and his bedroom. His back was to Jim. Jim could see how his shoulders slumped, how his hair seemed greasy limp around his shoulders, how his spine was held at an unnaturally Human angle. He knew Spock would find happiness – be, from Spock’s own mouth, _happier than he could ever conceive of_ – but it didn’t seem fair that he had to struggle through all this, first.

“I’m sorry that I clearly deceived you in the future,” Spock grunted bitterly, the end of his words slurred, “I will never be happy, or know peace.”

Spock’s bedroom door slammed behind him as he darted into his room, leaving Jim back in the living room on his own again. A few moments passed and loud music, angry and metal, started to thrash against the walls of the apartment. _Jesus fucking christ,_ Jim thought to himself, slumping against the back of the sofa. At least Spock trusted him, and would go along with him, but that victory suddenly felt small and pale. He looked down at the wedding ring on his hand.

_His poor t’hy’la._

He sat back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling, folding his hands on his stomach. Dawn was just an hour or two away; he wouldn’t be getting much sleep that night. If only he could access a photo – a holovid – an old love letter – hell, Spock himself, to _prove_ to this man that he was going to be _amazing._ To help this depression that he hadn’t even realized Spock had ever gone through.

All he had was himself. This wasn’t even his time to mess around in.

Taking a deep breath, Jim shut his eyes and willed himself to sleep. At least Spock trusted him to do this – even if he didn’t trust Jim’s explanation of the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week's update for a very, very sad and angry Vulcan and Jim who ages ten years for every minute he spends with him! Both boys have an idea of what'll get them home - but they've got to break into a Starfleet lab to do it. Thanks all to who've read/kudosed/left comments, really do appreciate it, and see you next week!


	8. Somewhere in Nevada, 2251

“So, was it like a ‘okay, I’ll Vulcan-marry you if you Human-marry me’ situation? Like, did you have to nag at him to Vulcan-marry you? I feel like you’d be pretty good at nagging.” Jim asked his seventeenth and eighteenth consecutive question on their drive, seat tilted back. He suspected that the questions took less effort than breathing. Spock was behind the wheel again. The brief intimidation he had felt at driving quickly dissipated, replaced with the growing suspicion that there were no turns from Iowa to California. Good.

They were in Nevada, and the fields had slowly been replaced by piles upon piles of sandy duns, a land full of deserts. Two hours and fourteen minutes ago, there had even been a mountain that they had driven over. Otherwise, it was nevertheless the same flat patch of land, though perhaps with differing amounts of vegetation involved. This certainly felt more familiar to Spock, though he noticed that he saw no poisonous lizards ambling on the road.

Driving was much more boring than the holovids he had watched as a young adult had led him to believe. Jim had momentarily had him stop to show him how to turn on the headlights as the night led on, but otherwise, they had continued without break. They would reach San Francisco by sunrise at this rate, if they kept going.

… He was tired. He did not want to admit it, because it felt weak and unhelpful, but Spock was exhausted already from the journey. Still, the road was straight ahead of him and Spock was confident that he could continue driving down it. Jim’s constant question-asking helped his weariness, and made Spock more willing to answer them.

“No, it was not like that,” Spock explained. “If anything, it was the opposite of your belief. I eagerly desired to be married to him. He, just as eagerly, desired to be bonded to me.”

Jim wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Why?” At seeing Spock’s hesitation, he clarified. “Why would you _want_ to be married?”

“I wanted to grant him the partnership that I knew he wanted, in front of others. My husband, for as non-traditional as he is at times, eagerly wanted to have a customary union – if only,” Spock added as an afterthought, “To criticize the people who said he would never be able to have a normal partnership.”

Curiosity satiated, Jim collapsed back against the chair. “Lucky guy,” he muttered, and Spock wasn’t certain he knew what he meant by that. “Who proposed?”

“I did.” Spock was content to be nostalgic as he brought up that memory. It was a good one, after all, one that Spock often imagined and re-imagined over and over. “I had to wait longer than I anticipated, until we had both earned shore leave. We elected to visit a somewhat isolated planet, known for its mountainous terrain. I had synthesized an engagement ring some time before. We hiked for some time until we reached a clearing.” It was perhaps less clean than how Spock was describing it. Jim had fallen along the trail. Although unhurt, he had entirely muddied up his uniform and scraped his limbs. He’d been somewhat winded as they reached the top of the mountain. Spock’s sense of timing had been off, and had gotten down on one knee while Jim had “taken a breather”. But … “Obviously, he shed a few tears and said yes.”

“Obviously. So, you know, next obvious question is – why isn’t he with you, now? I mean, if _I_ were your husband, I wouldn’t exactly leave you alone in the middle of nowhere.”

That was a difficult question. “If he had any choice, I’m certain he would be. But it was quite sudden, and some circumstances cannot be helped. I know I will see him again.” Jim made a noise of faint disbelief and Spock shook his head. He didn’t want to think of it much, and tried to tell himself that he would _know_ if Jim were truly dead. He would feel _that,_ if nothing else, through their defective bond. “Would you like to drive? I am starting to become wearied from it.”

“We should probably just pull over and get some sleep. I’m beat, and we’ll get there in the morning this way,” Jim reported. “Unless you’re in that much of a rush to _risk our lives_ on this wild road. _”_

Spock considered it. Time was important, but he supposed being well-rested certainly had its benefits. He considered it long enough before spotting something on the road, a few dozen feet away. It was sitting directly in their path, and Spock for the life of him could not _know_ what it was. It seemed like a large dense ball of … fur?

He was not one for panic. Even if Spock was occasionally more fatalistic than Jim would prefer, he did not panic if faced with his own death or pain. However, his driving skills were limited to going in a straight line and braking. Curves were an enigma.

Spock jerked the steering wheel to the side. The car responded appropriately. With a loud _screech,_ they bounded into the other lane. His foot found the brake and he slammed it down with more force than necessary. For a few terrifying moments, they simply spun in a circle, the same _screech_ of the brakes sounding in Spock’s ears. His arms locked up around the wheel. Eventually, though, they came to a stop.

“Are you alright?” Sensibility momentarily forgotten, Spock reached over for Jim. His hands pressed against his chest, as if patting him for injuries. Jim threw his head back and laugh. “Jim, what was that in the road?” Jim was fine. Spock looked back towards the road. The headlights were shining on the creature now, and Spock could see that it was almost spiny in appearance. “Jim.”

“You’ve never seen a tumbleweed before!” Jim chortled. “Oh my _god!_ You freaked out so bad!”

“It was an evasive maneuver.”

“You _freaked._ Come on, I’ll show you.” Jim popped open his door and stepped out. Without looking down the road (Spock glanced up and down the lanes, just to be safe), Jim approached the ball. He gave it a kick towards the car and it bounced over, surprisingly light. “It’s plants. Don’t touch it, it’ll start sticking to you. Not evil, promise.”

Spock paused before killing the engine and getting out of the car himself. He crouched next to it and examined the structure. What Jim said was true – it was a highly interlocking labyrinth of spiny weeds. Spock could see a few insects crawling inside, making their home there, but otherwise … it was not the animal that Spock had expected. “On Vulcan, there were animals of a similar structure,” he explained defensively. Beneath his hair, Spock figured his ears were starting to flush green. _Don’t be embarrassed. That’s beneath you. You cannot know every plant structure on Earth._ “Highly aggressive. Very poisonous. I did not realize you didn’t have them on Earth.”

Standing up to his full height, Spock gave it a little kick. The tumbleweed, picked up by the wind, floated back towards the side of the road. “The more you tell me about Vulcan, the more it sounds badass. Why ‘were’, though?”

Spock let out a hum requesting clarification. He faced Jim in the middle of the road. There were no cars even slightly audible on either end. If he had to guess, it was only a few hours before dawn. The moon was at an angle in the sky, casting light down on the desert plans below. He heard the sound of a canine – _coyote, you have seen those before,_ Spock told himself. An owl sounded next.

It was peaceful. Stars, perfectly visible and scattered like glitter, overcame the sky. _Perhaps,_ Spock thought to himself, _the next shore leave can be had on Earth. Here._ He would very much appreciate cozying up to Jim underneath a tent, pointing out the stars to him. More times than expected, Spock appreciated the quiet sort of short leaves, where it would be only him and Jim.

“You said they _were_ on Vulcan. What happened? Did they go extinct?”

Spock flinched. A lapse of words. He really should have been more _careful._ It would not behoove him to get so comfortable with Jim, here, because otherwise everything would be lost. And it would _definitely_ not behoove him to get stranded in the middle of Nevada after Jim got angry and left him. “Yes,” he murmured, and it was technically not a lie. “They are extinct now.”

“Boo. I was going to ask if you could bring one back for me as a pet.” Jim walked back to their car, intent to climb back in. As his hand rested on the car door, however, he frowned in concern. He walked to the other side and Spock saw him crouch beneath the door, before uttering a loud ‘ _fuck!’_

“What?” Spock asked. He readjusted his hat and walked over to Jim, finding him squatting by the wheel. Spock’s stomach clenched.

Wheels weren’t supposed to be quite so flat, were they?

“You fucked up the wheel when you started swerving. Good job, brainiac. It’s no problem, there’s an extra in the back. Just hope the rest of them hold up until we get to California. To say that they’re kind of old is an understatement.” Jim was running his hand over the rubber tire. “You know how to change a wheel?”

On many crafts, the answer was yes. Spock had even worked on a project that involved transforming a shuttlecraft into a planet rover once it touched down, which did include putting wheels on it. “Not on an automobile,” Spock admitted.

“Thought so. Go to the trunk and grab it for me. And the jack.”

“The jack?”

“The red thing. You’ll know it when you see it. It probably has some dignified Vulcan name or something.”

Spock complied and went to the truck. Indeed, there was the tire and the ‘red thing’, somewhat smaller than the device Spock used to hitch up spacecraft shuttles. He grabbed both and returned to Jim, getting on his knees beside him.

At the very least, Spock told himself, his Jim would be getting a rather exciting story from him. And they weren’t in much danger, which was preferable. “I feel like I’m teaching my son,” Jim joked. “Now, look here, you always bring a rubber on you. Work smarter, not harder. Always throw the first fish back.”

The glare Spock sent Jim had no venom, but it caused him to laugh anyway. “Don’t worry. I can’t imagine anything scarier than me being a dad.”

Jim got up to retrieve the lug wrench from the glovebox. Spock watched as he hitched up the car momentarily and started to remove the flat tire. He had always known Jim had a fascination with mechanical work. Jim had once admitted to him that, if things had ended with him staying in Riverside, that he would have been a mechanic for his career. He would have been good at it, Spock quietly marveled.

And the idea of Jim in a mechanic’s jumpsuit, stained with oil and thoroughly muscular, was … quite appealing, privately.

The flat tire was put to the side, and Spock quickly stored it in the trunk. “You know, I have to say that I think I really admire your culture,” Jim remarked suddenly. “You seem very put together, all the time. No fear. I mean, I don’t know how well you _actually_ know what you’re doing, but you act like everything’s just according to plan.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at Jim. He had been told that before.

“I feel like I can trust you with … _everything,_ you know?”

He had also … been told that before, right before Jim revealed his most personal secrets to him. Curled up in one another on the bed, Jim had quietly told him of his most private trauma. The abusive relationships. The horrific situations. The dark thoughts. Everything that made Spock clutch him a little tighter against his chest and be grateful that he had survived so far.

The memory made Spock somber, and he simply nodded.

“Here. Hold the tire up there while I screw it back in. No, um –“ As Spock held the tire, Jim reached up to readjust his hands. “Like this.”

And in that moment, Spock touched the young man’s skin for the first time. He hadn’t meant to, but Jim had grabbed his hands before Spock had a chance to react, and then he was awash in feeling.

Their telepathic connection had always been singularly strong, particularly even with Spock’s diminished abilities. While everyone else was clouded with static – as if he were partially numb, touching them – Jim’s signal had always been clear. That did not change with age, it seemed, because Spock felt Jim’s signal loudly thrumming against his skin.

A human term seemed appropriate in that scenario. Spock always found that human terms concerning love were more adequately detailed than any Vulcan terms.

Jim, he felt across his skin, was _head-over-heels_ with him. There was intense adoration and affection, bordering on lovesickness.

He yanked his hand back as if he’d been burned, and the spare tire clattered to the ground. “I apologize. I’ll hold it,” Spock muttered as he held the spare tire in place again. Jim let out an agreeable noise and started to attach the tire back to the automobile.

Uh-oh.

This might prove more difficult than he anticipated. Jim had a crush on a man that he hardly ever met – the image of the man he had created in his mind. A dashing, devious, morally dubious rebel of the galaxy who needed his help and rescued him from Riverside. Spock’s eyes darted back and forth as he thought about how to best rectify that. _Maybe I won’t have to,_ Spock considered. _Maybe it will not come up._

If the issue was resolved quickly enough, maybe Spock could just ignore what he had felt. That seemed the best solution.

The tire was attached quickly enough. In the meantime, another car had approached and swerved gently to avoid the stopped vehicle. “We should pull over and get some rest.” Jim looked up at the moon. “Get a couple of hours and then be there in the morning. I don’t think anyone will care if we just pull over in the side of the desert.”

That, Spock had to admit quietly, did seem to be a good idea. He was exhausted. The coffee and oatmeal he’d eaten had seemed a long time ago.

Jim drove a few miles further before they came to a particularly flat stretch of desert. They pulled off the side of the road. Spock felt the car’s wheels dip slightly into the sand, sinking in, and then Jim killed the engine. “Gonna be honest, I didn’t bring any blankets or pillows or anything. Sort of spur of the moment.”

“That will be fine.” His clothing would be adequate protection, and he had slept in much worse environments before. Sleeping in the backseat would be much more preferable, though, and Spock climbed over the center console to get there.

Jim’s hand was on the convertible switch. “You want to sleep looking at the stars, or?”

Oh. That would be … nice, actually. The cover of the roof didn’t prove much protection from the elements, but Spock doubted that they would be rained on during the night. He nodded, and soon they were exposed to the stars.

Jim climbed back in the backseat and joined him. Usually, Spock would not question the arrangements. They would find a pleasant way to sleep. With what he had recently learned, however, Spock felt his breath catch in his throat as Jim joined him on the other seat. As if it were some sort of ward, Spock reached for the chain around his throat and pulled the wedding ring out from under his uniform.

“How are we going to do this?” Jim asked with a lopsided, devil-may-care grin. “Two guys, one backseat.”

Spock was not concerned about his comfort. Vulcans had the helpful talent of being able to fall asleep at will, at nearly any position. Although his muscles would be somewhat stiff in the morning, that was easily rectified. He pushed the seat back slightly and folded his hands in his lap. “Are you _really_ going to sleep like that?” Jim asked curiously. “Looks uncomfortable. Come on, you can lay down with me.”

Spock watched Jim stretch himself out. He propped his legs up on the doorframe of the car. Meanwhile, his head just brushed against the outer part of Spock’s thigh. “This seems _much_ more comfortable.”

Perhaps it would be, in a logical sense, but the idea of laying down with Jim – even innocently – deeply made him uncomfortable. “I am fine,” he told Jim. Looking down at Jim’s face, Spock watched the young man pout at him. “Vulcans can fall asleep at will.”

“God, Vulcans are so _cool,”_ Jim whined, before he sighed and half shut his eyes. “Alright, fair enough. You sleep sitting up if you want. I’m going to get comfy.”

“As you please.”

Perhaps thirty seconds of silence passed between them. It was just enough time for Spock to get somewhat lulled into relaxation by the environment around them. The coyotes howling in the distance somehow seemed to coincide from the faint clicks coming from the car’s engine. His muscles started to release.

“I’m really glad I’m here,” Jim muttered quietly on the seat beside him. “Only known you a few days, but meeting you has been – _wow._ Nuts.”

His muscles tensed again. Spock didn’t respond, only keeping his eyes shut and his head leaned back. Perhaps if he didn’t respond, Jim would think he’d fallen asleep.

“And you’re _ridiculously_ cool. You know? Total badass. Just this cool-as-shit renegade sweeping into my life. It’s like it’s meant to be.”

 _Please._ He’d have to tell Jim that. _Go to sleep,_ Spock internally willed him, until he felt a hand on his knee. When he cracked his eyes open, he realized that Jim had shifted onto his stomach. His pupils were somewhat dilated and he looked up at Spock with clear affection in his eyes.

No, something slightly more carnal than affection.

_Uh-oh._

The hand travelled an inch up his thigh and Spock reacted immediately, reaching down to wrap his fingers around Jim’s wrist. Any doubt that Jim was making a pass at him fled immediately when he felt the surges of lust across Jim’s skin, and Spock winced. He was not upset in a personal sense, but this was an unbearably awkward situation that he never thought he’d find himself in a million years.

“I am _married,”_ Spock explained to him. Jim’s face fell. “You know this.”

Jim went silent, breaking eye contact. A scarlet flush spread across his face. He eventually took his hand back and shifted onto his back again. Scooting forward, it looked like Jim was being very careful to keep an inch or two of space between the top of his head and the outside of Jim’s thigh.

“So if you weren’t married …” Jim asked curiously, his eyes shut tight. The air between them in the car suddenly felt like it was made of molasses.

 _Wait fifteen years and you may be surprised,_ Spock thought to himself, before he let out a soft sigh. “My thoughts have never drifted from my bondmate and his safety. It would be impossible for me to think of life without him. I am sorry, Jim.”

“ _No.”_ Jim whined. “No, please don’t apologize when _I’m_ the jackass who made an inappropriate pass at you. I just thought, you know. I don’t know what I thought. Uh. My bad. Just forget it ever happened.”

Still, Spock did not want to let it go there. “It isn’t that you aren’t … handsome, of course, or desirable, and I’m certain you will find someone acceptable – and more acceptably in your age range – “

“ _Selek.”_ Jim’s voice was strangled. “Is this my punishment? Because I’m willing to go through myself to the coyotes if we don’t have this conversation.”

“Please do not throw yourself to coyotes.” Spock wished he could explain in that moment. That it wasn’t meant to be like this, that he would find someone appropriate – _him,_ in fact, but not here, not now. “Sleep, instead. I will forget it happened.”

His hand folded around the wedding ring, threading his finger in and out of it. _Jim,_ he tried to force through the bond, _I love you dearly, but sometimes your recklessness_ _and impulsivity_ _is exhausting._ If it got through, Spock received no returning thought. _I miss you,_ he added, sent invisibly through the air across their bond.

In all likelihood, it vanished in the desert night.

Spock shut his eyes to sleep. There was a moment of leftover restlessness, before Spock willed his brain to relax. And, just like that, all at once, Spock went limp.

The drawback of such an ability was that it was very difficult to wake himself back up. Spock preferred to fall asleep naturally. When he did that, he could be woken by the chirp of a comm-badge or the shifting of the starship or even by Jim readjusting himself next to him. When he forced his brain to sleep, his mind kept him unconscious until it deemed, occasionally illogically, that he’d gotten enough rest.

It was more rest than he preferred, in this particular circumstance. When he woke, he blinked himself awake. They were moving. The sky, bright and blue, whizzed by above him. He’d been lying on his back in the backseat, but there was no Jim. Spock leaned up in the car and watched Jim, wearing shiny reflective sunglasses, in the driver’s seat.

“Hey, sleeping beauty!” He shouted above the wind. A warm, joking rgin was plastered on his face. “Man, you sleep like the fucking _dead!”_

“How long have we been driving?” Spock shouted back. He pressed his thumbs against his eyes to wake himself up. Although he knew the rest it had been necessary, he did not particularly _enjoy_ oversleeping like this.

“I dunno, three hours? It’s almost noon!” The sun agreed with him. “Look ahead!”

Focusing his eyes on the scene in front of him, Spock saw civilization.

Glinting reflectively in the sun was San Francisco, the silver towers rising towards the sky. _Home,_ Spock’s heart reflexively sang out, _familiar, beautiful home._ It was a strange sensation, because Spock had never _really_ thought of San Francisco at home. And yet, as they drove closer and closer, Spock could not help but feel that he was getting closer to somewhere warm and safe.

“I figure it’ll be another forty minutes before we get _in_ there, but we made it, man! I can’t believe it.” Jim was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other perched outside of the car door. Spock had to agree. He was looking forward to getting out of this car, to doing _work_ again. “We’ll have to stop to eat somewhere. I’m _starving.”_

Spock’s stomach quietly agreed with that sentiment. There would be plenty of places to eat in the city. Leaning into the front seat, Spock looked over at Jim and his good mood. “About last night,” he started hesitantly, uncertain of whether he wanted to delve into that particular disaster.

Jim immediately waved him off. “Nothing happened last night,” he remarked flatly. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That was precisely the route Spock wanted to take on the entire issue. He supposed it would be humorous, later. Jim would tease him that he’d apparently had a crush on him before they even formally met, and Spock would tease back that he much preferred a more mature, capable version, and that would be that. There would be no concerns about what effect this would have on a timeline.

Besides, Jim’s affections had largely been fickle in his youth. Spock did not know precisely how many people Jim had been with. The concept wasn’t very important in Vulcan culture. He did get the impression that Jim fell for people fast and quickly, but soon lost interest through no fault of his own or the other partner’s. He had once asked Jim when Jim had realized that he was in love with him, and Jim had sheepishly announced that it was sometime during their first date.

It had taken Spock significantly longer. Spock had also been tinged by the fear that Jim would lose interest in him as he had with previous partners. After all, Spock hardly provided the excitement and passion to Jim’s life that Jim brought to his, and he had been surprised Jim had wanted to be with him in the first place.

He had brought such concerns to Jim’s attention at some point. Jim had grown agitated during the conversation and said that while he did not know _how_ to explain that he would always love Spock, he would indeed always love him. It was like they were meant to be.

Spock had realized, then, that they were t’hy’la. It made their entire relationship much easier, no longer tinged with the fear that Jim would lose interest and follow another. And now, being married, Spock held much more confidence in the entire matter.

 _You’re going to be happy,_ Spock thought about the young man in the driver’s seat in front of him. His reflective glasses disallowed Spock from seeing his eyes, and he wished he could predict what the man was thinking. _I cannot tell you this, and I cannot prove it, but I promise you, you are going to be happy, and loved, and cared for. Please do not feel like you are anything less than remarkable._

“You’ve been to San Francisco, right? Is there like a –” Jim thought to himself. “Like a signature food they have there? Like, Iowa’s got corn. Corn is our thing. Pretty much.”

It was an unimportant, whimsical question. Nevertheless, it kept Spock’s mind off his worries. As Jim slowed the car, Spock climbed back into the passenger’s seat and settled stiffly in his position. “Crab,” he admitted thoughtfully. “Which I cannot eat. Clam chowder with sourdough bread. I cannot eat the clam chowder.” A pause. “Sourdough is … rather sour for my tastes. Er. A certain way of creating a burrito?”

Jim shot him a half-smirk so confidently familiar that Spock’s heart melted. “A _ringing_ endorsement. Come on, what do _you_ eat there?”

“They are rather inventive with their vegetable bowl arrangements. I also ate grain bowls often. I know that is not preferable to you, but –”

“ _But_ I trust your judgment and will eat whatever you want to eat. I’ll have time to explore on my own,” Jim reasoned, “After you’re gone. When I’m exploring my new life. I figure I’ll hit up some bars, see if they need bartenders, stuff like that.”

 _You could sign up for Starfleet Academy,_ Spock wanted to advise, but that seemed to be a catastrophically poor decision – if only for personal, selfish reasons, such as Jim _meeting_ Spock while they were both in the Academy. _Especially_ given that ridiculous phase he was going through at this point in time. Spock suppressed a shudder.

“You will be fine,” Spock promised, “And if you are ever in need of assistance – “

“I can contact you?”

“Probably not.” The admission was sheepish. “If you are ever in need of assistance, however, you are more than capable of getting yourself out of it.”

While clearly not what Jim was expecting, it certainly seemed appreciated. “Damn right I can,” Jim reasoned, “I’m James Tiberius Kirk. I fucking ran away from Iowa with a guy I just met to start my new life. San Francisco is going to be _easy._ I’m tough.”

Spock had to suppress a smile. “You are tough.”

“ _Damn_ right. And I’m handsome. Downright charming. San Francisco isn’t going to be able to handle _me.”_

“Certainly not.’

“And I’m going to be – something, someday.” Jim’s overinflated prediction fell short as he ran out of ideas. “I don’t know what. But you, wherever you are in the galaxy, whatever trouble you’re getting into, you’ll hear about me being a bigshot, doing something back on Earth.”

The smile could be suppressed no longer. Spock’s lips split warmly and he raised his hand there to cover it. “I am certain,” he promised, “That I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jim no. 
> 
> Another early morning up date before I rush off! Thanks to all who've read/commented/kudosed - I'll see you all next Sat!


	9. Somewhere on Starfleet Academy Campus, 2251

“Oh, yeah. I can still totally pass for a cadet,” Jim remarked while they stood in the turbolift, admiring his reflection in the window. He was wearing his replicated cadet uniform from yesterday – and it was actually coming in handy today. Jim liked to think that there would definitely be less questions tossed his way if he were found wandering among the science laboratories in a science-track cadet uniform. Then again, if anyone saw them in the highly-restricted _USS Kelvin_ laboratory, there’d be questions no matter what color Jim’s uniform was.

Spock had been silent, but his hand was gripping the railing in the turbolift tight. He stared at nothing across the long horizon of San Francisco. It was a beautiful day out, patchy with clouds but with plenty of sun shining through. _Anxious._ Jim didn’t have to be bonded to him to tell that. Jim had offered him one last hail-mary before they’d left, a quick you-don’t-have-to-do-this-Spock, but Spock had double down and that had been that. 

However this fucked up the timeline, Jim would be grateful to him. He could only hope that it wouldn’t affect his own present, but right now, his options were limited. As long as he didn’t get this Spock killed, he was pretty confident things would wind up okay. It was a low bar.

The turbolift reached the bottom floor and opened with a  _ding!_ That snapped Spock out of his deep thinking. He looked somewhat more recognizable in his cadet uniform, although he was still sporting his usual makeup and hair  ensemble . Really, that look (maybe a little less smudging  around the eyes , granted) didn’t  _not_ suit him, but he couldn’t help but think of Spock almost methodically inspecting himself in the mirror while shaving.  The stuff he put in his hair made it look like black straw, though.

“You ready?” Jim asked him in a quiet voice while they stepped out. San Francisco roared around them, encompassing them in their own little bubble. Jim liked the dull roar of voices in the background, the buzzing hum of human life that seemed to rise above the mechanical clicks and whirrs. “Because – I mean, this is kind of a big deal, you know. What you’re offering to do here, breaking into the labs. You could get kicked out of Starfleet. Or, you know, worse.” 

“I was wondering if I should have dyed my hair,” Spock admitted in a soft voice. They had begun walking from the apartment complex to the Academy campus, but the question stupefied him enough to stop him dead in his tracks.

“Shouldn’t have – _what now?”_

“It is a burglary, is it not? I’ve been led to believe that wearing disguises is part of the entire scheme. Am I inc – am I wrong?” 

“This isn’t a _holovid,_ Spock, this isn’t – you’re the only one who has clearance to be there. I mean, probably not in the middle of day when you’re meant to be in class, but way more than _me._ You looking like yourself is pretty critical. No, I don’t think you should have dyed your hair for this.” He caught up beside Spock again. “And, for future reference, for any other burglary plans you make, dyeing your hair is the _worst_ way to conceal your identity.”

“I could make other burglary plans in the future,” Spock seemed to realize, almost in a whisper to himself, and Jim wanted to heave a sigh. He could only hope that he wasn’t creating a career thief, some sort of galactic renegade. _This_ was why he didn’t get it when people called him a bad influence. 

Then again, he supposed he wouldn’t have fared much better  in Spock’s shoes , would he?  If he  had  just been dropped on New Vulcan at the tender age of twenty,  Jim would’ve been totally hosed.  And it wasn’t like Spock’s getting  to Earth had been  _easy,_ either. From what Jim knew, Spock had chartered a shuttle in the middle of the night (the very night that he’d gotten accepted from the Vulcan Science Academy) and had left to Earth  without his parent’s knowledge. Jim didn’t even know if Spock had left a  _note._

Hell, if he’d done that – just plopped himself onto Vulcan – he probably would’ve died within a week. Easy. The heat exhaustion would’ve gotten him, or something venomous would’ve just started chewing his leg. Or, even better: been the first murder victim on Vulcan in the past two-hundred years. 

Spock was trying to  _learn,_ because how much did he know about humanity, really?  When there was so much information about Human culture being thrown at him, left and right, a far cry from the relatively closed-off Vulcan society that he’d lived in – well, who could fault a guy for getting a couple of wrong ideas? He had the  drinking tendencies and devil-may-care  attitude  of the cadet lifestyle down, that was for sure.

San Francisco welcomed him warmly, to the point that Jim even let himself take the lead back to the Starfleet campus. Yes, there was his favorite cafe that had shut down  ( _would_ shut down, in a few years) , there was the bus he’d taken in every day for a year. While he’d enjoyed himself, he couldn’t say that they were his happiest years – not while the  _USS Enterprise_ existed.

Starfleet banners, attached to the streetlights, heralded their welcome onto the campus proper. And yet – “There’s something wrong,” Jim muttered to himself. There were too many people out. Too many that weren’t cadets – too many that weren’t even wearing Starfleet  _uniforms,_ but other formal attire. And  when they crested the hill that led to the large Starfleet Academy lawn,  Jim realized that there would be another complication.

_God fucking damn it._

There were tables set out all across the flat  grassy field, each decorated with a long blue tablecloth decorated with the United Federation of Planets emblem. A raised stage sat at the center of it all, with large blank holo-screens on either side. On large banners across the entire raised portion was a hearty sign spouting  _WELCOME AMBASSADORS_ in curly purple font. Here and there, Jim could see caterers start to bring in food and set the tables for their imminent arrival.

He paused on the top of the hill, before pivoting on his foot and looking up at Spock. “You didn’t think about telling me how many people were going to be at the Academy today, Spock?” He struck out one hand. “ _Jesus._ If they’ve invited every Federation ambassador and their families, there’s gonna be  _hundreds_ more people  on campus  than what we were expecting.”

Spock’s eyes were widened – he looked at Jim, and then at the tables, and then at Jim again. It was all that he showed of being utterly shocked, and because he was so muted about it – god help him, Jim  _believed_ him. “I wasn’t aware,” he managed to force out. “ You will have to forgive me, Jim, but my attention has been somewhat  _divided_ for some time. I had not realized.”

Aw, hell. Jim had to believe him. If anything, he’d  _definitely_ disrupted Spock’s life since he’d been here. 

It was a beautiful day for it, Jim had to admit,  not that the Federation could control the weather .  These  Ambassador gala blowjob parties often were – and that was what they  _felt_ like, anyway, people just standing around congratulating each other on not going to war for another year.  Like that was at all  _hard._ Jim often pulled strings so that he didn’t have to attend.  He chewed the inside of his lip and considered calling it off. Maybe they could wait another day - 

But the longer they waited, the riskier it got, didn’t it?  And things like this could last for days, even a  _week._ Jim didn’t want to waste that kind of time.  “ We’ll just have to lay low,” he announced in a grim voice. “And we’re going to have to move quick. I don’t think any of them will be aware enough to know that we don’t belong, but I don’t want to risk any nosy Nellies.” 

“Nosy Nellies.” Spock sounded, at first, like he was committing the phrase to memory. And then – he raised his hand and pointed out to one of the chairs. Jim saw only now that each chair was decorated with the emblem of the planet or species – and he caught sight, just at the end of the table, of two chairs with the Vulcan emblem emblazoned on the headrests. “My father and mother will likely be here.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to his mind. “Shit. Probably why your mom was calling.  _Okay._ Just - “ He didn’t have to tell Spock to avoid them, at least,  because from Spock’s grimace – he would do that well enough on his own.  “We’ll just keep moving, okay? Take me around the long way to the labs.”

And they did, stepping first to the trail and then skirting through the mass of buildings that served as the Academy classroom hubs. Jim didn’t catch sigh of the Ambassadors, which likely meant they were scattering around a few dozen conference rooms in the administration building. That was where the  _actual_ work went on, anyway, even if the rest of the conference was probably going to be spen t ass-kissing and shoe-polishing.

He just hoped none of them got curious and started to snoop around. 

They entered one of the astrophysical research buildings. Jim hadn’t spent loads of time here, honestly, had never been his area and had never been what he had patience for. This building was basically unknown to him. There was hardly time to reminisce, anyway. 

Most of the laboratories were unlocked. However: the computer performed a biometric scan of whoever entered any of the labs which, generally, made stealing things _really_ difficult. 

On the other hand, the lab they were breaking into required certain credentials to access. The line of thinking was that, should someone have the credentials, a biometric scan was unnecessary. It was a gigantic gap in security, even on starships, that bit people in the ass dozens of times. And yet, convincing an Admiral of that was borderline impossible.

“Okay. You got this? You good?” Jim asked while they stopped in front of a nondescript door. The only adornment it had was the room number on a small metal plaque. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, other than something a _little_ more elegant when the greatest discovery of the 23rd century was taking place just behind that door. 

The only reason why he’d posed the question to Spock was that he’d noticed the Vulcan’s hand shaking. He raised it and pulled off his glove, and Jim saw that his knuckles were nearly knocking together.

“Yes, Jim,” Spock muttered in a tone that didn’t seem very sure at all. “The irony of this is only striking me.”

Jim didn’t have time to figure out what he meant by that before Spock had finished keying in the passcode. The door slid open for the both of them, and without another word, Spock ducked his head and went in. Jim followed on his heels. 

Part of Jim hated the idea of leaving Spock like this, obviously in pain and struggling with _everything_. He wondered if Spock had ever told anyone about this period of his life – he _certainly_ hadn’t told Jim. Spock would make it through, of course. Obvious, given the wedding band around his finger. Well, unless Jim had affected this timeline so terribly that Spock crashed and burned right after their encounter. 

He’d have to make one hell of an inspiring speech right before he left. Yeah. He could do that.

“You should probably – not look at a lot of things,” Spock off-handedly remarked. 

Jim wasn’t even sure what he was looking at, even with his experience on the _Enterprise_. Most of the equipment was covered by white sheets. That most of the laboratory was also dim, other than the blue emergency lights guiding their path, only added to the eerie effect. “Uh, no worries there.” 

“It’s more lively when people are working in it.”

“You don’t have to sell me on the lab, Spock. I trust you.”

And, although he didn’t want to emphasize it, he hoped it was obvious that he _was_ trusting this grungy little sad boy with his life. If Spock wasn’t able to transport him properly, then Jim figured he’d be blasted particle-by-particle out into space. It was kind of how he wanted to be put to rest, anyway, though he’d been sort of hoping that he’d be dead before that happened.

Spock stopped at the terminal and started to code in the appropriate parameters into the transporter linkup. _This_ was the Spock that Jim recognized. The computer glow reflected against his eyes, his eyebrows drawn together in focus, fingers moving fast but sure. Jim began to feel more comfortable with the idea of putting his life in the hands of this man, because – surface turmoil aside – this was still the man he’d end up trusting with his life every goddamn day. He was _good_ at this, if only he could take this Spock by the shoulders and shake him until he realized. Let those little Vulcan braincells rattle around his skull.

Almost to spite his own thoughts, Spock’s fingers paused at the terminal. He looked up, alarmed, and then over his shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“Someone’s here,” Spock murmured, and Jim froze to the spot. 

It was too late to run, e ven if they  _could_ somehow find another exit .  As far as Jim could tell, though, the only way out was the doorway they’d just passed through. Jim could hear it, now, thick heels clunking against the floor to their location. Only one. He spared a desperate look at Spock.  _I thought you said you had access to this lab,_ _why are people investigating us,_ he tried to wordlessly demand of the man next to him, but Spock’s eyes never left the walkway. 

And then, in defeat, he could see Spock’s shoulders slump.

His future father-in-law strode confidently down the walkway. He was dressed in Vulcan ceremonial robes, meaning that there was a big goddamn deal going on. So not only was Spock doing something highly illegal, he was also interrupting some big Federation-scale thing to do it. Great. Looked like the ambassador gala was in full swing.

If Sarek was surprised by Spock’s appearance or how he held himself, he didn’t say. Jim supposed that he was only grateful that Spock was in his Starfleet uniform. Somehow, he didn’t think Sarek would be the biggest fan of spiked collars on his bouncing baby boy. The raggedy fringe and beard were probably bad enough.

And, beside him, Spock straightened out his spine. He tilted his head back. He observed his father with cool – and ultimately Vulcan – indifference. 

“Cadet,” Sarek remarked formally.

“Yes, Ambassador?” Spock’s response greeted his father’s professionalism and matched it.

_You’re related!_ Jim had to resist the urge to scream.  _You had sex with his mom and he’s your son! You raised him since the day he was born! Act like it!_ Instead, he just froze as Sarek and Spock just  _looked_ at one another. 

It hit Jim with a shock that this might’ve been the first time he’d seen Spock in years. 

_How the hell did Sarek know we were in here? How the hell did Sarek know to find us? We’re so royally fucked._

“You realize that he,” Sarek remarked, nodding his head towards Jim. “Does not have clearance to be in this laboratory. In fact, he is not currently enrolled in Starfleet Academy. Yet he bears a Starfleet uniform. That, in itself, is against regulation.” 

“I am aware.”

“How do you know this man?” 

Spock’s eyes flicked over to Jim, and Jim gave a discreet shrug of his shoulders. Whatever he wanted Spock to say, he couldn’t help the guy  out without Sarek overhearing . And frankly –  _future husband_ was probably a thoroughly un-Vulcan concept.  Either way. He knew Spock was a damn good liar.

His eyes went back to Sarek. Sarek stared back. Jim couldn’t help but shake the feeling that he was the referee for some contest of wills.

“I was giving him a tour.” 

_That,_ at least, registered a reaction in Sarek. He rose his eyebrows (and what prodigious eyebrows they were, though Jim had learned the hard way that remarking on a Vulcan’s eyebrows was not the compliment he thought it was) and tilted his head to the side. “A tour.”

“Yes, Ambassador.” 

Jim had to give Spock this – he remained the amazing liar that he’d always known Spock to be. There wasn’t a bead of sweat anywhere. He wished he could read what was going on through his thick skull, though.  Or Sarek’s, for that matter. Because Jim had to periodically remind himself to breathe, with the tension in the room. His muscles were tensed up like he was expecting it to come to blows.

“You realize that facilitating a security breach is a very serious charge within the Federation.” 

“Yes, Ambassador.” 

It was then that Jim heard footsteps coming from the walkway. More than one person. Jim felt his shoulders stiffen up when he saw  four people from Security march up the walkway to join behind them –  _shit,_ Sarek must have called as soon as he realized someone was in there. 

_Four_ security officers. That had to be overkill, didn’t it?

Jim had no idea  _how_ Sarek realized someone was in there. He and Spock didn’t have any sort of familial bond – and even if they  _did,_ it would’ve degraded away by now. But that wasn’t the point, now. He could practically see Spock’s Starfleet future crumbling away because Jim had gotten him into trouble.  Damn what happened to  _him,_ he still cared about what happened to Spock when he ultimately left this time. 

“Ambassador Sarek,” Jim broke in, stepping forward and putting both of his hands out. “Please. Spock here had nothing to do with this, okay? It was my idea. I practically forced him into it, he’s – he’s not in the wrong here.” 

Sarek looked like Jim had just crawled up his pant leg and died. 

“What’s your name?” 

A thousand names flitted through his mind, before he picked the one that he couldn’t possibly be. “George, sir. My name’s George. This isn’t Spock’s fault.” 

At that point, the security was standing in formation around Ambassador Sarek. Jim seriously hedged his chances with running. If he ran, then maybe Spock wouldn’t get into trouble. As much trouble. But Jim was damn sure that he couldn’t outrun a Klingon, who was staring him down with a menacing expression. 

Sarek turned to regard him. In the corner of his eye, he could see Spock glaring daggers into his skin in a very Vulcan fashion.  _What?_ Jim thought to himself.  _I’m taking the heat off you. You think this is the first time I’ve dealt with your dad? I had to have the ‘sorry you’re probably not gonna have grandkids’ talk with your dad, I can handle this._

“Do you expect me to believe that you overpowered Cadet Spock physically or mentally?” Sarek asked, and Jim heard the contempt _dripping_ from his voice.

A few times over the course of their relationship, Jim had asked Spock why the hell his dad had married a Human if he thought Humans were so shitty (he had asked it a little more kindly than that, but had thought it a little more harshly). Spock had considered the question like he’d never thought on it before.

Eventually, Spock explained  that it wasn’t his father’s belief that Humans were in any way inferior to Vulcans. He doubted that his father would have been the Federation Ambassador for so many years (although Sarek dealt with dozens of species, it was primarily a position that dealt with Humans) if he did. His father simply believed that a Vulcan pretending to be Human or a Human pretending to be Vulcan would fail in both respects. It was like when schoolchildren dressed up like a skeleton or a ghost or a bear. They simply were not. 

Jim had said that was a pretty shitty viewpoint, too, especially for a guy who had ended up having a child that had a foot in both worlds and didn’t want to give either up. Spock had agreed. 

Suffice to say that Jim didn’t much care for Sarek to begin with. Sure, he was one of the best Ambassadors that Starfleet had ever seen, and Jim supposed he could respect that professionally, but Jim personally thought he was an ass.

And when he didn’t much care for people, it made him surly. Besides, Jim could foresee no other way out – Sarek clearly wasn’t going to believe Spock’s innocence – and his mind had jumped instead to burning the sinking ship. Perhaps if he made things just _worse_ for himself, the punishment on Spock would be lighter.

“Well, we arm-wrestled for it,” Jim remarked, blue eyes cutting against Sarek’s own gaze. “I win and Spock commits a security breach for me. I lose and I have to buy Spock a hot dog. Thankfully, nobody ever taught Spock how to cheat at arm-wrestling.”

Beside him, Spock took a  deep breath. Jim loosely translated it to  _we’re in the shit now._

They’d been so close. They’d gotten in the lab.  Jim could’ve gotten home.  If they’d just had a little more  _time …_

It, at least, got a reaction out of Sarek. Sarek’s nostrils flared at him and Jim raised his chin to stare Sarek down over his nose, feeling like he was getting lectured by the Riverside sheriff for the dozenth time. Sarek took a step forward, and Jim wondered – bizarrely, in the back of his mind – whether he was about to get decked by the Vulcan ambassador. Jim had seen a Vulcan lose control before. It wasn’t pretty.

“Ambassador,” Spock cut in. “May I ask – with the utmost respect – how we were discovered? It is my understanding that your duties do not necessarily require you to visit the astrophysics laboratories.” 

Even Spock’s  _voice_ was different when he spoke to his father. It was more articulated, more  _formal._ Even if Spock was still sporting a man-bun and a shaggy beard, he nevertheless sounded like he’d  just  stepped off of Vulcan. 

Sarek swung his gaze on him, as if debating whether to answer, before nodding. “I asked one of the terminals where your location was.” A beat passed, before he continued: “I had approximately forty-nine minutes before I was required to be somewhere. I thought it appropriate to seek out your location and meet with you in that time. It led me to this laboratory, whereupon I called Security when I realized there were two individuals inside.” 

Spock was visibly shocked by the assertion – and frankly, Jim was only a few shades less shocked. Sarek wanted to meet with the son that he hadn’t spoken with in years. Had wanted to find him out and talk to … what, exactly? Make amends? Dinner? Have a friendly chit-chat about how he hadn’t done much to stop Spock’s life being ruined? Jim wasn’t sure how fatherly Sarek felt for his kid, but _that_ seemed like a lot.

“Relatedly.” Sarek turned towards the security guards and nodded. “Please take these two men and transport them into a holding cell until I can inform their superiors. Or - “ He nodded towards Jim. “Relevant prosecuting officials.” 

Oh, boy. Spock was right. They _were_ in the shit now.

But he wasn’t about to fight against security, no chance. Not only was there absolutely no chance he’d win (especially when they had phasers clipped to their belts), but he didn’t exactly want to become Starfleet Enemy No. 1 when there was some sort of ambassador get-together going on. He was screwed, sure, but there were always deeper circles of hell to get to.

One of the guards came up to him, gently pulling his hands being him and securing them with a phase-lock. Another went to Spock and did the same. Spock didn’t even react to it, stunned as he was by the admission that his father had been _looking_ for him.

Jim was being pulled along, but he couldn’t swallow one last pointed barb: “You’re really going to do this to your own son, huh?  Dad of the year, man. ”

Sarek took this information with a nod; Jim could practically see him filing _this man knows my son well enough to know that I am his father_ in a little cabinet in his mind with Jim’s picture on it. But, in terms of responding to Jim, Sarek had only one thing to say.

“You seem to be mistaken, George. I have no sons.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of another update! Young Jim/Spock get to have a fun road trip while young Spock/Jim manage to get themselves declared enemies of the Federation, boo. Thanks to all who've read/commented/left kudos, see you next week!


	10. Somewhere on Starfleet Academy Central Lawn, 2251

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mentions of child abuse, anger-control problems

It had always been mutually understood between Spock and Jim that they would not be raising a child. While some Starfleet Captains had children – and even rarer, some Starfleet Captains had children with their partners on board – it was clear that Spock and Jim’s predilection for exploration type missions meant that having a child on board would be inappropriate.

Too much danger on shoulders that were far too small for it. Spock worried so much about Jim’s safety that he felt it daunting to think that he could expend any additional worry on anyone else.

However, on occasion, he did occasionally feel a prick of desire to be the parent to a young adult – someone independent enough to not need Spock for basic survival, but someone unused enough to the galaxy at large that they could still be taught about its wonder. Spock was not a particularly poetic sort of man in the depths of his soul, but sometimes he wished he could show another person the amount of compassion and beauty and kindness that the galaxy contained. _He_ wanted someone to show him that as a child.

He would not term San Francisco as the most _beautiful_ place he’d ever visited, but from Jim’s excitement, it would do just fine as “the galaxy at large”.

They had ended up stashing the car in a motel parking lot some half-mile outside of the city limits, before walking inside and getting a room. Jim had been practically pressing his face up against the window since San Francisco had been visible, and – even if he tried to suppress it – it filled Spock with _joy_ to see him so excited. To see him taken far away from Riverside and placed somewhere that made him _happy._

It lessened the burden of urgency placed upon his shoulders, certainly, to see Jim practically bouncing by his side. Spock found himself walking more slowly, occasionally pointing out certain sights to Jim as they passed them. “How often do you get to San Francisco?” Jim asked brightly. There was a lightness to his step that Spock hadn’t seen before. He wondered how much adrenaline was coursing through the man right now.

Driven over half the country with some mysterious rebel that he’d only just met – straight out of a holovid, certainly. Probably quite a lot of adrenaline, in retrospect.

Spock considered. As always, he had to consider how the question factored into the story that he had let Jim believe. And – he did not want to get the poor man’s hopes up about his answer. While Spock had once spent a large amount of time here, he had not taken the trouble to memorize every aspect of the city. “Hardly ever,” he admitted, which wasn’t _too_ far from the truth. These days, he only got back to San Francisco in an official capacity when he absolutely had to. “But I was here often when I was younger.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna have to tell me where all the cool guys hang out.”

Spock recalled the places where he used to hang out during his time at Starfleet Academy and immediately resolved never to tell Jim about any of them. They were not appropriate.

Likely, Jim would find them out anyway. But Spock didn’t want to be a bad influence upon him.

They began to see streetlights with Starfleet logo flags emblazoned on them, indicating that they were approaching the Academy grounds. In his side, Spock felt his heart speed up considerably. It was not for any sort of homesickness, for the Academy that had been such a source of struggle for him, but one step closer to returning to his true place. His _t’hy’la._ He almost didn’t notice Jim starting to snicker next to him, but shifted down to look when he heard the noise.

“You look like a total _puppy,_ oh my god. Your eyes just lit up like Christmas.”

Spock’s lips pulled into a tight frown. _You’re one to talk, small pup._ “It has been a long trip.”

And, it seemed, the trip would be a little longer. They stepped onto the Academy grounds proper and Spock began to see more Federation-styled banners than usual. Everything, in fact, seemed to be a little more elaborately decorated, as if they were preparing for some incoming event. Large tents were placed here and there to explain where things could be found. Anxiety began to prickle into Spock’s bone marrow.

“Uh-oh. Selek, you see this?”

Jim was standing by one of the bus stop terminals. At every bus stop was a large electronic panel that displayed the goings on – on one side of this panel displayed the news for San Francisco (and the galaxy at large, which to Spock seemed like high ambition for a simple bus stop terminal) and the other displayed the news for Starfleet Academy. Jim had his finger on the panel and was scrolling through it. “Says here there’s some big Ambassador get-together-fuck-you going on.”

 _Oh,_ hell. Spock shut his eyes and scoured his memory and found that he remembered it. Of course he did, Starfleet Academy cadets had been granted time off for a few days and Spock had practically been barred from going in the lab. It had been frustrating, but that had been the extent of its impact on Spock’s life. The cadets were encouraged to attend events side-by-side with the ambassadors (a fantastic learning opportunity, most instructors said).

Spock had not. For obvious reasons. He didn’t remember those few days much, but he knew that he had stayed in his apartment with the blinds drawn.

Jim took his hand back and put them on his hips, looking back up at Spock. “Is that, uh, gonna be an issue, Selek?” He worried the inside of his cheek. “You’re not, like, an intergalactically wanted fugitive, are you?”

Spock had to look at this _rationally,_ of course. The fact of the matter was that the only ambassador who _might_ recognize him would be Sarek. And Sarek was one man out of thousands currently on campus, unlikely to think that this Vulcan would be an aged-up version of his son – _and_ he no longer had to worry about seeing his younger self here. Spock remembered getting unconscionably intoxicated in his apartment for the entire duration of the event and swearing off alcohol as part of the Human experience forever. This was going to be fine. Beneficial, even.

He still tugged his hat more firmly around his ears. “It means we must be more careful. There may be more security measures in place.” Turning around, Spock looked Jim over. “Just stay quiet, and stay near me, won’t you?” Jim getting into trouble was the last thing he truly needed, and Spock suspected that his tendency to get in trouble started at a young age. One need only consider where he was now.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, whatever you need to get where you need to be,” Jim chirped back, so obediently that it made Spock hurt.

Before he left, Spock would have to give Jim a logical and well-contained speech about what he ought to do in order to thrive in San Francisco. It was only fair, given what Jim had gone to get him here. Spock genuinely hoped that Jim would succeed here. At least, it seemed unlikely he would be unhappier than in Riverside.

They continued onto the lawn, where Spock could see that they had started to set up chairs and tables as well as a large stage meant for receiving guests. Good – the festivities hadn’t started yet. Structurally, that made things easier.

Jim wasn’t following him.

Spock turned on his heel to see that Jim was looking at the lawn, somewhat open-mouthed, in … was that _awe?_ “Jim?”

Jim’s jaw snapped shut. He regarded Spock with a blush. “Uh, my bad,” he got out, following behind Spock. Spock was following the most efficient path to his astrophysics building. “Just, uh. It’s cool, you know?”

Spock was confused. “The … chairs?”

“No! No, it’s just, like. How many ambassadors do you think are gonna be here? How many species?”

“Dozens. Perhaps a hundred.”

“How are you not _losing_ your shit at that? Okay, I get why _you,_ specifically, are not losing your shit. But - “ Jim was making emphatic gestures with his hands as if to get a point across. “Maybe because you’re some, like, renegade jetsetter across the galaxy, _whatever._ But you gotta admit it’s _kind of cool_ to get a hundred species together peacefully to shoot the shit and talk about their planets. How is everyone not _losing their mind._ ”

Given Spock’s position, the allure had rather worn off some time ago. But, for a boy who had mostly grown up in Riverside, Iowa – with only brief sojourns into space – well. Spock could suddenly understand why Jim would be fascinated by it.

“That’s the point of the Federation, is it not? Peaceful communication between species.”

“Yeah.” Jim shook his head like a dog getting off water, keeping his head down to follow Spock along. “I wish I could attend and see it for myself, you know? That’s all. There’s a lot of balls in the sky that are bigger than Earth.”

 _Perhaps you could,_ Spock internally thought, but made no comment. He had altered the timeline enough already.

They approached the astrophysics building – it was fortunate timing that Jim had paused to gawp at the stage earlier, because just as they rounded the corner, Spock saw a small commotion coming from the two front doors. He pulled himself and Jim into a building alley so that he could get a better look.

Four security guards walked by, pairing off. Their prisoners were between them, their identities shielded from Spock’s view. But it would be impossible to mistake Sarek trailing behind, in his formal Ambassador attire, his hands folded behind his back. From here, Spock could see that Sarek looked pensive. Troubled.

This … didn’t make sense, not really. Since when had Sarek taken it up being a security guard for Starfleet? For that matter, why would two people be led away from the astrophyiscs lab by security in the middle of the day?

Then again, the second question could be easily answerable. Spock had once walked in on two people having sex in the _USS Kelvin_ lab – one of the most confidential labs in Starfleet Academy, to Spock’s knowledge. Sometimes there was no predicting what cadets were thinking.

But the first question, though, was perplexing. Sarek had a very keen sense of what his duties entailed and refused to differ from them. He had a one-track mind – it just so happened that it was a very long, circuitous, ambitious track.

Ever more perplexing was the sudden emotion that shot through Spock, quite without his permission. Spock had kept a careful lid on his emotions for _years –_ it was strange that he experienced something sudden and uncontrollable unless the situation was tense. Or, of course, unless the bond flared when his bondmate was nearby. However, he was not, and the situation was not exceptionally taxing on Spock’s emotional balance. But now, watching those two nameless prisoners and Sarek march off in the direction of the holding cells, Spock felt something _erupt_ in him so intense that it was painful.

 _Anger._ Anger raged within him like a fire, racing up his back, overarching all rational thought. Spock just couldn’t understand where it was _coming_ from. His mind raced to the bond, but Jim was not _nearby,_ he simply _couldn’t be,_ Spock couldn’t _see_ him, which meant that it was coming from inside of his very mind. Vulcan emotions could be turbulent, but Spock’s logical control was impeccable.

But then again, was it as impeccable as a full-blooded Vulcan? Was there not some risk to his emotional control, always, due to his emotional blood?

Without thinking of it – almost like he was looking for some sort of conduit – Spock grunted, reared his fist back, and punched a wall. Brick scraped against Spock’s knuckles and crumbled away; Spock could see that he was bleeding.

 _No._ No, he had to get that under control _immediately._ This was a mission of the _utmost_ delicacy, and if he were some raging – Romulan – _thing,_ then he would never see his bondmate again. Spock closed his eyes and clenched his his fist against his stomach.

The anger. Why was he angry? He didn’t know. If he didn’t know, then nothing could sustain the anger. It was a fire without a source of fuel. Spock cordoned off the anger in his mind, starved it of oxygen. He breathed in through his nose and breathed out through his mouth hard, imagining that every breath of carbon dioxide was pushing away the air needed to sustain the anger. Spock watched it flicker. Spock watched it die. It was a Human trick rather than a Vulcan one, but it worked just as well.

He opened his eyes. In front of him was a brick wall with a fist-sized dent in it. He looked down at his hand. The cut was not deep, but he was nevertheless leaking green ooze into his shirt. That would have to be sorted out _immediately._

He opened his eyes.

Jim was no longer there.

Spock startled a little when he saw that Jim was simply … _no longer_ in the alleyway. He hadn’t heard him run off, but after a cursory search, it was clear that Jim hadn’t just decided to give him a moment. Jim was nowhere in the area.

 _Oh, no._ Spock raised a hand up to his chest, looking around and around him like he expected Jim to be just over his shoulder. His first thought, shamefully enough, was one of selfishness: he _couldn’t_ use the transporter on his own with any reasonable degree of success.

The second was a little more kind: Jim, fresh from Riverside, Iowa, was frightened and running through San Francisco with absolutely no idea what was going on.

And of _course_ he was frightened, even if Jim would never admit it. A man that Jim barely knew, even if he would never admit it, had just gotten blindly angry out of nowhere and had struck a brick wall so hard that it started to crumble. Spock couldn’t blame him for that, but he also didn’t want to let Jim just … run away.

There was just a small matter of scouring an entire city for one eighteen-year-old man.

Spock would have to start as soon as possible. He stuck his knuckles into his pocket, pulled his hat a little tighter down his ears, put his head down, and set to work.

**

Spock always thought that sunsets in San Francisco were enchanting, though they were not as beautiful as the ones he experienced on Vulcan. Nevertheless, he remembered many days when he was in the Academy where he would avoid his duties and obligations for half an hour while he would sit on one of the wharfs and watch the sky change colors. Sometimes he would bring a tea.

The water, the skyline, and the _wind_ were completely the opposite of what he’d been used to. And yet, Spock had felt a sense of peace while staring across the skyline. Many things didn’t make sense among the Humans, but _that_ _sky_ _–_ well, he could understand that. Sitting there, the tender edges of his differences seemed to hurt a little less.

He had not returned to the wharfs that night, but those memories nevertheless came to his mind as he searched for Jim. Spock checked everywhere he could think of – the motel where they had parked (the car was still there), the library, and every bar that he passed along the way. He had risked exposing his identity more than once, but it seemed an acceptable risk to find Jim.

Now, if only he could _find_ him.

He had started to trudge back to the Starfleet Academy grounds with the sun at his back. Certainly Jim would return to the motel at night – or, more likely, he would find somewhere in the city to hide from him.

The festivities were started on the grounds, it seemed.

Lanterns were placed all across the lawn, illuminating in the darkness. More tables had been added – Spock saw a few hundred cadets eating at some. A prickle of panic struck through him as he searched the tables, but thankfully, Jim had not decided to be _utterly_ foolish today. The tables near the front had been reserved for the ambassadors; Spock could see them reflected against the light. He saw the antennae of an Andorian amongst them, as well as the facial ridges of a Klingon and – ah, yes, there was his father. Spock was sure that Sarek could not see him in the dark.

Someone was on stage, delivering a welcoming address of some kind. Accustomed to such addresses, Spock tuned it out and looked at the outskirts of the lawn. Other than those attending the gala, there seemed to be nobody else. All others were likely out enjoying the nightlife or returned to their apartments by then.

Except for one.

On a hill just in the corner of the lawn (Spock recalled watching cadets sled down it in the winter), he saw a lone figure watching the gala. Underneath the shade of the large tree, he would be practically invisible to those attending. The figure was sitting with their knees pulled up to their chest, pulling up the grass, watching the proceedings intently.

 _Oh, Jim._ There was truly nobody else like him in the galaxy.

Spock’s heart welled with the sight and approached, making a semi-arc so that he approached the hill from behind. He crested the top and realized that Jim was so absorbed in the speech that he hadn’t realized his presence. Spock stomped his feet.

That took Jim’s attention. He looked over his shoulder – and his eyes went to pinpoints.

Jim scrabbled backwards rather than up, kicking up dirt and grass from the ground before his back hit his tree. “S-Selek,” he got out, and Spock saw him plaster a half-cocky, half-desperate grin on his face. “Hey, buddy. What’s, uh. What’s up?”

Spock didn’t need a bond to know that Jim was radiating fear.

He walked over to Jim’s previous spot and sat cross-legged. Jim had clearly stolen a lantern at some point and brought it up on the hill, hiding it against the roots of the base of the tree so as not to bring unnecessary attention to himself. Spock could see his face, least, even if he looked like he was fighting to maintain his calm. “May we speak?”

“I, uh. Was actually gonna head on back to the motel. Kinda tired. It’s late. This is, uh. Real snoozefest.”

Spock knew that if he simply let Jim go, he likely would never see him again. _Ever_ again, actually, unless he managed to find someone else to bring into his scheme. Which was not impossible, but …

Not the route he wanted to take.

“I’m sorry,” Spock said, half-cast in shadow. “For what happened earlier. An uncontrolled anger struck me. I don’t know from where. I was not angry at you. I _am_ not angry at you.”

Jim was still against the tree, regarding Spock with suspicion.

“I was being honest when I said that Vulcans are pacifists. I will not harm you., ever. It is against every moral code in Vulcan culture.”

“I mean – _Jesus,_ how am I supposed to trust that?” Jim spluttered out in a rush, gesturing towards him. Spock did not move from his position. “You could be just like Frank. You could be _worse_ than Frank, at least Frank didn’t turn hot and cold like that.”

“I could be.” Spock’s voice was gravelly. “I’m not asking anything of you, Jim. You could leave after this conversation and I promise that I will never bother you. If you chose to do so, I only wanted you to do so in peace – without wondering if I was lurking behind every corner, angry at some imagined betrayal. I apologize for my emotional slip in front of you.”

After the apology, Jim didn’t say a word. Spock felt his eyes return to the assembly of cadets and ambassadors in the field below. An image of the galactic quadrants were shown on screen – they were going through the ambassadors’ home-worlds, one by one. Spock felt a peculiar tugging at his heart when he saw Vulcan appear. Images started to flash of the rocky mountains, the vast deserts, the capital city.

Jim let out a growly, aggravated sigh and pushed himself up from the tree. Spock stiffened, certain in that moment that Jim would leave forever –

And then Jim took a spot right next to him. “Why the fuck do I get myself into this kind of situations, Selek?” He laid down on his back, staring at the sky rather than at the gathering in front of them. “Seriously. I’m in goddamn California. With a guy I met, like. Three days ago. Helping him break into a laboratory.”

Spock had never had to resist the urge to tell him more than he did at that right moment. How Jim would go on adventures that would make this one _pale_ in comparison. He turned his head to look down at him and his defeated posturing. “Would you prefer a quiet life in Riverside for the rest of your life?” Spock asked. “A local job. Never venturing outside the city limits. Seeing the same faces every day.”

“Honestly? Doesn’t sound too bad. It’d do wonders for my lifespan.”

“No. No, it’s not a bad life.” Spock chewed the inside of his cheek. “Vulcans as a whole seem to prefer it. But I do not think it is for you, Jim, no matter what path you decide to take your life. I hope that, at least, grants you some peace on the matter.”

Jim raised his hands above his head, cushioning it. “I dunno. Maybe.” He heard Jim sigh. “Can I be straight-up with you for a second, Selek?”

“Of course.”

“You think everyone in your life’s just gonna end up disappointing you, eventually? Like, that’s just what people do?”

 _Oh._ Spock looked down to see that Jim had closed his eyes. Pain flared in his heart, to see Jim in such distress. Spock knew – perhaps more than this current Jim realized – what it was like, being young and vulnerable and _alone._ So terrifyingly alone.

Jim took Spock’s silence as confusion. “Like, when I saw you freak out on that wall, I wasn’t even angry. It was just sort of like … ‘figures my luck would run out’. You know?”

There, Spock moved to join Jim. He laid down flat on his black to stare up at the stars alongside him. Not nearly as much as there were in Riverside – and _certainly_ not as much as there were on the _USS Enterprise –_ but Spock could still pick out the larger constellations. He liked _Ursa major._ It reminded him of a sehlat.

“It is unreasonable to think a person will remain in your life indefinitely and simultaneously manage to meet expectations and exhibit no flaws of character.” Spock folded his fingers on his stomach. “Nor will you do the same for that other person. Logically, it is only a matter of acknowledging the harm and earnestly trying to do better.”

“That simple, huh?”

“Not at all. I said that’s how it logically goes about. But, things rarely go about logically. As a matter of practice … “ Spock pondered for a moment, before continuing. “I have noticed, when it is a person I care for and admire – he and I are a unit. I feel pain for his flaws just as he feels pain for his own. His disappointments to me are also his disappointments to him. Therefore, when he improves – it is not only an improvement for me, but also for himself.”

“So when he fucks up and does better – “

“We are both improved as people, as a result. He has made his apologies to me and become a better person for it. That is to say that the bond cannot be cleaved if I cease to think of us as a unit, two people are not molded together forever – but you will feel that severance and know it is time.”

They were both quiet at that, taking time to stare at the sky. Spock could hear the rumbling of the proceedings in the background, providing a comforting sort of backdrop to the situation. He didn’t think he had relaxed, not _truly,_ since he’d set foot in 2251. But this was close enough.

“Sounds like you’re talking out of your ass,” Jim finally remarked, and – god _help_ him – Spock couldn’t hide a smile.

“It is the Vulcan way.”

At the very least, Jim seemed to relax, because he could hear Jim guffaw next to him. Jim pushed himself up to a seated position and looked down at Spock. “Alright. We’re cool, man.”

“Indeed?”

“Yeah. I believe you. Besides – you just need me for the transporter stuff and you’re _poof_ afterwards, anyway, right?”

Spock got the impression that Jim was hoping things would not go according to plan. Whatever Jim thought of him (and Spock _certainly_ was not going to try touching Jim again to try and get an idea, for fear that he would just feel that same attraction he was emanating before), Jim wanted him to stay around. And Spock felt … _sad,_ that he would not be.

Which was illogical, he knew. Soon he would be in Jim’s life more than he could ever imagine. At the time, it felt like an abandonment.

“You would hardly want an old man to … what’s the Standard term?” Spock pretended to think on it. “ _Cramp your style.”_

Jim snickered next to him again. “Oh, yeah. Like you’re not the most badass guy in the galaxy.”

What a strange situation Spock found himself in.

“Oh, hey, look. They’re starting to clear out.”

Looking up, Spock saw that Jim was correct. Everyone had stood up from their seats; the ambassadors were starting to mingle with the more daring of the cadets. The shyer among them had already started to make their way back to their dormitories and bars, filtering out onto the streets – and, unfortunately, taking the path right in front of the astrophysical laboratory.

Perhaps it was too late for it, regardless. He didn’t want Jim to be trying to program a transporter with limited sleep. There was no rush, he tried to tell himself. “We should return to the motel,” Spock murmured to the man beside him, and made a move to stand. Jim made a negative noise, causing Spock to look over at him.

“Wait. Like, I know things have been – like, I know I’ve messed up. Obviously. In a creepy way. But, uh, I think I get how things are now. And I just wanted to say – “ Jim breathed out hard. “You’re like the best friend that I’ve ever had. That’s it. We can go back to the motel now?”

Spock had turned to go back down the hill, but he was stopped dead in his tracks by what Jim had said. In that moment, he thought that things would have been made so much easier if he’d been honest with Jim from the start. At the very least, the guilt that stuck him so badly – that he had irreversibly changed Jim’s future – would be lessened.

“That means more to me than you know.” And that, at least, was true. There was a certain comfort knowing that he fit into this part of Jim’s life, too, where things were so terrible.

With Jim trailing behind, Spock began to walk back down the hill to the motel. They didn’t talk much on the way back – mentally, Spock began to find himself making a list of places that Jim ought to visit ( _educational_ or _intellectual)_ during his stay in San Francisco. He would make sure that Jim was as prepared as possible – before, Spock figured sadly, that he would leave this Jim’s life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update before I rush off, and a sweet little heart-to-heart between Spock and Jim. Everyone's now in the same city - now it's just a matter of making sure they don't screw themselves over. Thanks to all who've read/commented/left kudos, it's a real bright spot in my day to read through them.


	11. A Jail Cell in San Francisco, 2251

Jim was _raging._

He didn’t get this mad this often. There were a few things that pissed him off _this_ much, usually just the understandable things: genocide, abuse, general aggravated dickery. Even then, Jim rarely let that bubbling emotion hit the surface, because there was nothing worse in Starfleet than a hot-headed Captain. Hot-headed Captains didn’t get _themselves_ killed, no – they got their crew killed. Their ship blown up. Starfleet besmirched forever.

Of course keeping that temper under control was a work in progress, he was only human, and right now – he was a rough sketch, baby.

Jim had been pacing up and down the cell for the few hours since they’d been brought in. They would’ve been let out a while ago (Jim presumed that Spock would have an angry frowny-face on his record and a _very_ stern talking to by his lab boss in the morning), but instead, they’d been left to stew. And, given the biometric scan they’d had taken from him when they were brought in – Jim could figure why they were taking so long.

 _Not his son, his ass._ He’d never wanted to go toe-to-toe with a Vulcan as much as he wanted to wipe that smug goddamn look off of Sarek’s face. When he first got in, Jim made that _very_ well known to the guards sitting by the front door exactly what he thought of Sarek, Vulcan logic, and parental responsibilities.

Jim had been practically thrumming with anger when they’d taken him and Spock out of the laboratories. It had felt like his entire body was made of magma, just waiting to burst from underneath his skin. He had kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, not looking at a goddamn soul, because he didn’t know what was going on with Sarek’s mind – or Spock’s, for that matter- but he wasn’t going to give them an ounce of goddamn satisfaction from an explosive bout of human anger.

It’d taken several hours of pacing in for his anger to start to cool off. The entire time, Spock had sat down on a bench and hadn’t said a word, even as Jim made rounds around the cell like some sort of caged tiger.

And yet, it only took two words for Spock to absolutely smash Jim out of his stupor and sink him into concern. It was practically nightfall when he finally spoke; Jim could see the sun set and the moon rise through the window outside. Still, the cell was very brightly lit, making the entire place feel a little surreal: well, more surreal than being in a holding cell in 2251 with your future bondmate after being caught breaking and entering by your future father-in-law.

“I’m sorry,” Spock croaked in a small voice, and all the wind was taken out of Jim’s sails.

“Wh –?” He turned around and saw Spock sitting on the bench, head drawn down between his shoulders. His fingers were nevertheless gripping the bench so tightly that – _yeah,_ okay, Spock was starting to bend the plastic a little.

Jim’s emotions softened, if only a touch. If only because Sarek wasn’t here right then and Spock _was._ Sarek needed a slap across the face. Spock needed a dad who wasn’t terrible. Jim wasn’t sure if he could offer that, but he could certainly go for ‘older brother who occasionally got him into trouble’.

He walked over and sat down on the bench next to Spock. Some of Spock’s hair had fallen loose from his bun, hanging loose and shaggy around his face. It did a damn good job of obscuring it – not that Jim supposed he could read too much off him, if he was trying to keep things hidden. He couldn’t even see into his eyes.

“What’re you sorry for, Spock?”Jim asked him, nevertheless trying to duck his head and see Spock’s expression. “None of that was your fault, back there.”

“I failed. I have been running the calculations. If I had set in the coordinates quicker, adjusted the parameters without double-checking – “

“You woulda sprayed my ass halfway across the galaxy. You didn’t know that Sarek was gonna wind up having an ounce of parental concern.”

Spock went quiet again. The mention of Sarek certainly didn’t do anything for Jim’s mood, and he let out a frustrated grunt of a noise. “Fuck that guy, by the way. I know he’s your dad and all, but _Jesus.”_

Silence from the half-Vulcan. That was alright. Jim was more than willing to go on, all on his own.

“Like, not to get too weird, but in the future, I _meet_ him, and he’s not – I mean, I don’t talk to him all that often, but he’s not a total … you know. _Like_ that. Jesus, I don’t know when he pulls the gigantic stick out of himself, but he better hurry up about it.”

He wondered if that meant anything. To hear that his father maybe might improve in the future probably wasn’t the ringing bell of hope that Jim envisioned. And it was so hard to _read_ Spock, gripping the bench as he was, and Jim couldn’t help but envy the bond once again, because how nice it would be to just –

Spock sniffed hard.

Oh, _no._

He’d known Spock – his Spock – for years at that point. While Spock could afford to be a little free-and-loose with his emotions in private (even _then,_ talking to him about that sort of thing felt like pulling teeth), he had only seen Spock cry once or twice. Given the terrifying and dangerous situations they found themselves in, and given the privilege of intimacy that Jim had come to have with his husband, it was a staggeringly low amount of times he’d actually seen his bondmate lose control. Spock _felt_ like crying plenty more times than he actually did, of course, but the point remained that Spock did not often express things so outwardly.

And now, in front of him, it seemed like Spock was trying hard to hold back tears.

Before he could help himself, even knowing that Spock was Vulcan, Jim threw one arm around Spock’s neck in a one-armed hug. He expected Spock to go rigid, even push him away.

He didn’t. Instead, Spock raised his arms and wrapped them around Jim’s torso tightly. Jim felt Spock’s cheek scratch against the top of his uniform shirt, right around his shoulder.

“Oh, boy,” Jim half-sighed, letting his own cheek fall against the top of Spock’s shaggy hair. “It’s okay, Spock. It’s okay. I got you, man.”

Spock didn’t let up. He was still hugging Jim with an iron grip that he’d grown used to from his bondmate. Vulcans rarely gave loose hugs – hell, Vulcans rarely gave hugs in general. He used his free hand to rub up and down Spock’s spine, knuckles brushing against his vertebrae.

Jesus, what a poor guy. Jim couldn’t even pretend to be an expert on the role of family in Vulcan culture, but – in a word – _ouch._

He didn’t think Spock actually ended up crying. At least, he didn’t feel Spock’s breathing stutter or any incriminating wetness at his neck. Probably for the best, then. Despite Spock’s insistence that he was more Human than not, now – well, _fuck,_ Jim was fully Human and _he_ hated crying in front of people.

Spock was muttering something against the fabric on his shoulder that he couldn’t hear, causing Jim to pull back just enough to look into his face. “What’s up, big guy?”

Even if Spock hadn’t been crying, Jim could see that he was still worked up something terrible. His entire face had flushed green; his eyes reflected the light like glass. “Why can’t anything go _right,_ Jim? Why is everything so hard?” Spock sounded like he could only muster up a whisper, and still his voice cracked from the effort.

Not unlike what was going on with Jim’s heart right at that minute. Years of experience seemed to drain away with him. This wasn’t the first crewmember – future crewmember – that he had helped through an emotional moment, but Jim felt like he was just a clueless eighteen year old kid again, staring at Spock. Here, he was reminded that Spock was not only young, but all alone.

The universe was just a physical concept, it couldn’t actively want to fuck people over – so why the hell did it _feel_ like it sometimes?

“Shit, man,” Jim whispered, pulling Spock in again. Spock took it eagerly and nearly nuzzled Jim’s shoulder as a result.

And his poor _Spock._ Not only had the guy had to deal with all the bullying and rejection he’d been through on Vulcan – when it came down to brass tacks, to the rest of his life, they hadn’t even wanted him. Sure, they’d accepted him into the Vulcan Science Academy, but they hadn’t wanted him, humanity and all. And, for the cherry on top of the sundae, the only reason he saw his dad in the laboratories at wall was because Jim had dragged him into this scheme. Granted, Jim couldn’t see a way how he could’ve predicted it, but he still felt guilty.

He chewed over his thoughts. _Jesus,_ he had to say something. He had a responsibility, didn’t he? Given the unique situation he held himself in?

“I know – uh. Spock, I realize that some old guy telling you that things are going to get better doesn’t sound very reassuring. At all. But you’ve got … look. You’ve got real-deal proof, right in front of you, that things aren’t always gonna be so hard on you. You know? When I know you, you’re – Jesus, I promise you’re like the _least_ badass guy I’ve ever met. You’re a total goddamn geek.” Jim found himself smiling at the memory. There were few times he heard Spock get excited, but they were almost all in front of a specimen.

“Seriously. You’re super into your work, you’re a specialist in – like half a million subjects. You’re the coolest guy under pressure. You’re tough, a _nd_ smart, and capable, and – and you know what? Everyone aboard the ship _loves_ you. Like, legitimately, the science department is practically the cult of Spock, I can’t get any of ‘em to promote out because they wanna keep working under you. Even the only guy on the ship that gives you shit would do anything for you if you _really_ needed him.

And you don’t have to pretend to be Vulcan or Human or _whatever._ So don’t – like, I realize everything up until now has been varying shades of shitty. But I promise, I’m swear on anything, my ship, my wedding ring, my neck, literally _anything_ \- that it’s going to get better and you’re gonna find a place that was made for you.”

In some ways, Jim was grateful that Spock didn’t answer, because he really just had vomited up something ridiculously sentimental, hadn’t he? Of course he had meant every word of it, all that and more. Whether Spock would believe him was another matter entirely. Jim very well could’ve been talking out of his ass to keep Spock involved with his scheme, and Spock’s future might very well could’ve as terrible as his past. Still, though – his wedding ring was currently pressed against Spock’s shoulder from where he was holding him. _That_ proof had to count for something.

His shoulder was wet.

_Uh-oh._

Jim didn’t comment on Spock’s crying, but unfortunately, James T. Kirk was a sympathetic crier. It was an ingrained sort of thing. Sometimes he was grateful for it – it was _way_ less embarrassing to cry in front of the captain when the captain was crying in front of you, too. And sometimes, it was just a nuisance.

Feeling evidence of Spock’s tears made Jim remember something. Whenever he felt like he was about to lose control of his emotions, Spock would instead prefer to meditate alone. For most of their courtship, Jim had suspected that actually meant “I want to cry in private and don’t want to show my metaphorical ass in front of you”. One time, when he’d peeked in on him to see how he was doing, he saw that Spock was indeed just meditating.

Somehow, he doubted that this version of Spock – the one that so desperately tried to reject the Vulcan way – was much in practice. “Hey,” he nudged. “When’s the last time you meditated? Like, the Vulcan way?”

“Uh.” Spock froze a little in his hug, before remarking, timid: “Three weeks. I prefer to sleep.”

On top of all this, Spock’s emotional regulation was _also_ out of whack. That also made a lot of sense. “I don’t think they’re gonna get us out in the next few hours.” At least, until they made heads or tails of his funky biometric scan, clearly. “Why don’t you go meditate for a while? I’ll make sure nobody draws anything on your face.”

“But - “ Pulling away, Jim saw with a tug of his heartstrings that there were two wet tracks down his face. Spock brought his sleeves up to rub at his eyes. “I find it easier when my emotions are less …”

Oh. Well, that made sense. Surely Spock would find it easier to be Human if his emotions were a little more uncontrolled, but that didn’t take into account … “Yeah, but Vulcans practically have an emotional mosh pit going on all the time. You’re just gonna go off the deep end if you don’t meditate every once in a while, Spock, that’s just biology.” He grinned at his friend. “I’ll get you a hot dog later if you meditate. That’ll be enough Human points to make up for it.”

Spock didn’t _laugh,_ per se, but it was a breathy little scoff that could have been interpreted as something nearing amusement. More importantly, he stood up from the bench. He flexed his fingers; Jim heard the knuckles crackle like cellophane. Spock situated himself in the corner, sat cross-legged facing the wall, and Jim saw his spine straighten considerably.

Good. That was something, at least, would probably make Spock feel better. Jim turned to look outside of the cell again, only to see the shine of a pair of eyes near the doorway of the holding facility.

He felt his stomach drop to the soles of his feet. How long had the figure been standing there? More importantly, what had the figure had heard? He didn’t even _want_ to think about what they would think of him, talking to Spock like that. Would they even think he was crazy? Or just that he was manipulating Spock for – God only knew.

The figure stepped out of the shadows. It was Sarek.

Well, the night was just starting to get worse and worse, wasn’t it? Jim stiffened on the bench and lowered his head. He’d made an enemy out of one of the most powerful Ambassadors that had ever lived. Or at the very least, seriously pissed him off. He looked towards Spock in the corner, far away in his meditation, and decided that he wasn’t going to try to wake him for it.

“Do you know him well?” Sarek asked, and God help him, Jim didn’t have it in him to be diplomatic right now. It was taking most of his control not to lose his temper.

“What’s it matter to you?”

The ambassador didn’t miss a beat. “I have come here to apologize, and wondered whether it would be well-received.”

 _Oh._ Sarek always knew just what to say to throw Jim completely off kilter. It ran in the family, apparently. Jim leaned back on the bench, stunned. “Uh,” he trilled his lips and looked over at the meditating man again. “About what?”

“The comment I made about his relationship to me.”

Well, Jim would be damned. At the very least, Sarek wasn’t inquiring about his mental state or demanding that he be separated from his son – so at the very least, it seemed that Sarek hadn’t overheard much of what he’d said to Spock. Jim had gotten at least one break that night.

“It was a pretty terrible comment to make, Ambassador.” Now that he could see Sarek wasn’t being outwardly antagonistic, Jim was willing to extend an olive branch. A small one. With bugs crawling over it and wilting flowers. “He’s your son.”

“I am aware of his paternity. I asked if you knew him well to determine what you knew about my son and I’s relationship.”

 _Oh._ Jim blinked. “Well, consider me informed about everything.”

“I see. In that case, you can understand that seeing my son as disheveled as he was and breaking into a confidential Starfleet laboratory affected my rational resolve. In that moment, I no longer recognized the child I raised.

“Yeah, well. That’s what happens when you don’t call your son for years. You forget what he looks like, he’s picked up some weird hobbies.”

“He refuses to speak with his mother. Why would I think that he would respond to me?”

It was a game of logical badminton, one that Jim knew he was going to lose. He could be pretty damn logical when he needed to be, but there wasn’t a soul alive that could out-Vulcan Ambassador Sarek. “Still should’ve made the effort,” Jim grumbled under his breath.

Sarek let those words hang in the air, before Jim could almost hear him shift gears. “Your biometric scans are unusual, but I believe you are already aware of that.”

Jim didn’t know what to say to that. He was racing to think of some sort of explanation, anything that could explain it, _whatever._ “Yeah?”

“They match those of an eighteen-year-old who currently resides in Riverside, Iowa.”

“You’re telling me I have a kid? I _knew_ I shoulda protected myself.” At the very least, Jim knew that there was no way that he could pass for an eighteen year old. He didn’t think he was old-looking ( _please god don’t let him look old),_ but sometimes he would find gray hairs at his temples or poking out of his chin. Crows-feet had started to develop around his eyes. Maybe at a glance someone could mistake him for the punk living in Iowa, but any sort of decent lighting or proximity would reveal the truth.

And then came the big question: “Would you care to tell me why they match those of James Tiberius Kirk?”

_No. Not really._

“I’m James Tiberius Kirk and time travel exists,” Jim replied blankly.

Sarek gave him a withering glance, eyes bordering on cold contempt. Underneath his robes, Jim could spy a comm-badge. Ambassadors and other temporary visitors were occasionally granted them during their stay on Starfleet Academy; they were incredibly useful for navigation and calling for help. Sarek looked like he was trying to keep his hidden underneath his robes.

“Very well. Keep your secrets. I could leave you in the cell and have Starfleet Security investigate your background, instead. They would find what they’re interested in, and pursue necessary charges.”

 _Was that a threat, Ambassador?_ Jim raised an eyebrow and looked at him, but then again – well, he supposed he _had_ just gotten Spock embroiled in breaking and entering. No doubt this guy probably thought he was some sort of very elaborate con-artist. It wasn’t _spoken_ as a threat, but rather a statement of fact.

“I’m sure they could, and would. But it’s not like Spock would just forget about me.” Jim flashed a smile. “He’d be back here, causing a fuss. You know. I mean, he’s broken into a Starfleet lab, I really don’t think he’s above hassling Starfleet Security. _You know what he’s like._ ”

Sarek paused and watched his son in the corner. Spock was sitting motionless, eyes closed at the wall. Jim was glad for it. In a very literal sense, he needed the rest. He was also pleased that, from this position, Sarek couldn’t see the very obvious evidence that Spock had been crying.

“I thought as much. Spock is very swayed by matters of the heart.” Sarek’s words sunk like a stone. “Ever the _romantic.”_

 _Oh, fuck off._ Jim glared openly up at him, unwilling to join in on that. Spock was – only by Vulcan standards, granted – but Jim wasn’t going to admit that.

“Then you leave me no choice. It is within my discretion to release you both from this cell. And I will, but you must give me your word that you will leave Earth immediately and never contact my son again.”

 _Oh._ Well, what other choice did he have, exactly? “Deal,” Jim spoke – probably too quick for Sarek’s liking. This guy clearly thought way too highly of his _word._

Sarek was disbelieving. “We will be monitoring your travel records. If you have not left the city within twelve hours by shuttlecraft, you will be prosecuted to the highest extent possible by Starfleet.”

Twelve hours. Jim’s eyes flicked over to the clock on the wall. Twelve hours from then put them at just about nine-thirty in the morning. Even if he left in the morning (which was preferable, because Sarek being away from his duties meant that they had just cleared out for the night and the streets were going to be _packed),_ that left plenty of time. Jim didn’t like a time limit being imposed on his escape, but his hands were tied here.

“Leaving Earth?” Jim asked, faking a pout. He’d spoken too fast last time. “That seems a little harsh. What if I have family here?”

“Then I would suggest making your arrangements quickly.”

Harsh, but something that Jim could definitely live with. They would just have to be fast, and not get caught. That didn’t leave a whole lot of time to think of a plan, but as far as Jim considered, he wasn’t down for the count yet. “You’ve got my word that I’ll be off Earth in twelve hours, Ambassador,” he remarked respectfully, before turning his head and nodding towards Spock. “And I won’t speak a word to your son again.”

Well – the first part would be true, anyway.

Sarek dipped his head in understanding. “It is advantageous that we’ve come to an agreement. I will retrieve Spock first, and return for you once he departs.”

At least he remembered where Spock’s apartment was. He hoped Ambassador Sarek didn’t have too many eyes around the city. “Of course. Let me go wake him.” Turning on his heel, Jim returned to the corner.

Sarek was holding his hand out. “Wait. It is dangerous to – “

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s dangerous to wake a Vulcan out of deep meditation. I got it.” Jim waved Sarek off. He wasn’t going to feign Vulcan ignorance when Sarek clearly believed that he and Spock were … well, he didn’t know what Sarek believed. A bad influence, at the very minimum.

He was being truthful, though. People had to be careful waking a Vulcan out of a meditative state. The Human instinct was to shake by the shoulder, which wasn’t going to do anything but disturb the emotional shields they’d just built. Reaching for the hand was even worse (and Jim had learned _that_ the hard way).

Jim walked over to Spock and crouched in front of him. He closed his eyes, raised his hand, and placed his hand on Spock’s face. His fingers brushed against his psi-points easily.

This was nowhere near strong enough to initiate a bond, especially considering Jim was psi-null and Spock had limited psi-ability. But it was enough to tap into Spock’s mind, even gently. Like waving through a window instead of opening a door.

Of course, even that much would’ve been like asking a Human to carry a snowflake on their fingertip without it melting. It’d taken weeks of practice for Jim to learned how to mentally nudge Spock. Usually, Spock just took being abruptly woken – whether by his comm-badge or, even worse, the overhead of a ship alarm – and dealt with it. Jim couldn’t always help that, but hey, he could help it now.

 _Spock,_ Jim gently nudged into Spock’s brain. _Wakey wakey._

Their eyes opened together, and Spock regarded him with a curious look. “Hey. Daddy’s here to bail us out.”

Spock looked over his shoulder to see his father, but Sarek’s eyes were firmly on Jim. He looked … _perplexed,_ like Jim had just started reciting Klingon poetry in order to get Spock to wake. Didn’t take a genius as to why. Jim still couldn’t help but feel smug, either way.

No words were exchanged while Sarek pressed his credentials to a nearby terminal, nor when the photonic barrier was released from their cell. Spock stepped out after only a momentary glance back towards Jim. His gaze was full of questions, Jim could almost see the _explain everything later_ written all over his face. Jim only returned a self-satisfied smile.

Things had worked out for the best, all things considered.

Or – well.

Jim could see, the moment that Spock stepped over the photonic barrier, a change come over the half-Vulcan. Spock’s shoulders slumped in a naturally human way. His hands went to rest in the pockets of his uniform. He flicked his hair (which had almost entirely fallen loose from its bun) over his shoulder. There was nothing _smug_ about Spock’s expression, of course, but nevertheless – Jim saw it as a small act of rebellion in front of his father.

He could hear them murmuring to one another in the hallway leading up to the entrance, but – no matter how close he pressed to the barrier – he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Sarek looked like someone had just shit in his shoe, though.

Besides, Jim got the gist immediately when Spock reached the front door of the holding facility. He put one hand on the handle to the door, halfway pushed it open, and began to walk out. At the last minute, Spock looked over his shoulder at Sarek with a shiny glint in his eye. And, right before Spock exited out into San Francisco, he heard him snarl an insult:

“To hell with you, Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're in the middle of three chapters where characters are just crying all the time, so look forward to that next week. Thanks all for reading/giving kudos/leaving comments! I think this might be one of my favorite Spirk fics I've written, if only because I love writing the pseudo-parental interactions between older and younger counterparts. See you all next Sat!


	12. A Cozy Cafe In San Francisco, 2251

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mentions of parental death

It was a beautiful day to go back to the future.

Spock tried to retain a detached attitude to the task that lay before them, but he couldn’t help but be filled with determination and – _excitement,_ even. Of course there was a chance that it could fail, but this was everything that he’d been working for since he’d woken up in a wheat field in Riverside, Iowa. Given everything that could have gone wrong, Spock was generally pleased with how everything had gone.

They’d spent the night in the motel. Jim had been given the bed and – despite Jim’s protests – Spock had instead opted to meditate in the corner for the entire night. He was grateful for it; he hadn’t really had the opportunity, not really, for some time. Jim’s car was far too uncomfortable to settle his emotions much. It was good to have a quiet, stable place to simply relax.

The night had passed uneventfully, except for one incident of note. Spock had just been settling in for the night. Jim had left the room to, presumably, consume every small snack and beverage that he could find within walking distance of the motel (Jim’s appetite had not generally decreased with age, Spock noted). When he returned – with, yes, a good deal tucked underneath his arm – he had flopped down on the bed and remarked: _“Man,_ is there a Vulcan convention going on or something?”

Spock had raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

“There’s, like, three Vulcans just sitting outside our motel in these fancy robes. They were, like, laser-focused on me, even with my hood up.” He heard the rustle of packaging being opened. “They’re probably into me. I’m like catnip to Vulcans.”

Highly improbable. The presence of a few Vulcans around the motel was curious but not utterly impossible. By-and-large, Vulcans stayed on Vulcan. They had found that other planets and cultures were not as accommodating as their own home-planet. _Pon farr_ also required Vulcans to return to their homeworld every seven years, and some Vulcans took that as a sign to never leave.

That wasn’t to mention, as a child, the general underlying sense had been that other planets were wild, dangerous places where one’s safety couldn’t be guaranteed. It was an archaic, xenophobic belief mainly held by elder Vulcans who hadn’t been off-planet in decades.

But they were not a monolithic species. Some Vulcans left for trade, others left for research, others simply left for no apparent reason at all. Three Vulcans outside the motel could have been there for any number of reasons, especially considering how large San Francisco was.

“During the night, we will hear their trial by combat over the right to court you,” Spock murmured in a monotone, crossing his legs on the mat. _Jokes._ This was what excessive time around Jim had turned him into. A funnyman.

Regardless, Jim snorted. That was a half-second before a wrapped granola bar was thrown across the room and beaned him in the head. “Shut up, Selek, and eat your nuts.”

He had chosen to wake early in the morning. He left a note for Jim indicating that he would be in the city and to rejoin him at 8:30 AM sharp at the hill on the Starfleet lawn (he chose a time that, he hoped, wouldn’t cause Jim _too_ much stress). And then Spock had departed.

Part of it was strictly logical. He wanted to assess the crowds around Starfleet grounds before they simply went rushing into the laboratories, especially after seeing those members from Security escorting two trespassers. Spock wasn’t certain how many chances they would have at this, and he hardly wanted to be hindered by being thrown into a holding cell. His DNA would show a 20-year-old Starfleet cadet currently residing in San Francisco. Spock was reasonably certain he could pass for twenty, especially by a human member of security, but hardly wanted that mark on his younger self’s record.

For another part – he couldn’t think of when he would have the opportunity to simply stroll around San Francisco again. He could not engage with his plan until Jim woke, after all, and he so rarely got to go planetside usually. _And,_ fortuitously, his younger self was angry and hiding in his apartment because of the ambassador gala, Spock recalled. No risk of meeting him while wandering the streets.

Spock recalled where his favorite cafe was. It’d been a small place, out of the way for most cadets to get to, and he’d spent many days there while studying. Although not overly fond of sweet things, Spock had been fond of some of their muffins (mostly the raspberry ones) and their teas.He went on a walk for it. He had some time before Jim woke, anyway.

At the end, it was probably fortuitous that Spock had meditated for such a long period of time. It stopped Spock from jumping a mile when he caught sight of a hauntingly familiar woman when he stepped through the cafe doors.

She was sitting a table, with her back to him. Her thumb was holding her place in a book while she stirred sugar into her coffee. In front of her was a muffin with dark red dots throughout – Spock had no doubt that it was a raspberry muffin. Like many mothers with young, hard-to-please children, she had once found that her tastes had shifted to what Spock would eat as a toddler. Raspberries were Spock’s favorite fruit, being generally less sweet than the others.

He had been told of summer days as an infant where he would be sat out in the sun with a bowl of raspberries. Spock often preferred to squish them more than he preferred to eat them, marveling at the sticky red juice that came out. Spock would get it all over his face, his arms, his robe, and generally I-Chaya. His mother would sweep him up in her arms, chuckling but never chiding. The woman’s patience was formidable.

Amanda Grayson was a name and a face that weighed on Spock’s heart very heavily. And there she was, drinking coffee and eating a raspberry muffin. Alive, and healthy, and _safe._

His hands were trembling and Spock turned to leave. No, he could not stay here and _watch_ her, knowing that she would end up dying in the future. His own _mother._

Before Spock could push the door out again, he heard a voice call over his shoulder: “Selek!”

At that time, he’d been responding so often to that name because of Jim. He froze and chided himself.

He could run. Of course Spock could run. He could run all the way back to the motel, shake Jim awake, carry him to the laboratory, have him input the codes, send him back to the _Enterprise,_ and live there where he’d grown _used_ to his grief, for his mother and the weight of all he carried.

But Spock’s mother was calling him, and he did not want to hear her calling after him any more.

He turned on his heel and walked over to her table, taking a seat. From here, he could see her face properly. She was – understandably – at least a decade younger than when he’d last seen her, and to Spock’s mind, it made her look more relaxed. Considerably at ease.

It was only when Spock dipped his head in greeting that he realized: _How did she realize my cover name?_

And then, an image came to him from when he was a child – of a dying sehlat, and a strange relative who had come to him and assist, to put the poor creature out of its misery. The strange relative had also been named Selek, and this was where Spock had chosen his own cover name. The real Selek had looked so familiar that Spock did not doubt for one second, even at his young age, that Selek was actually a cousin -

 _Oh, damn it,_ Spock thought irritably. _Selek was me_ _all along_ _._

What a circle things could be.

“Amanda,” Spock greeted. He placed his order on the table terminal. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.” No chance of escape now, not without causing alarm.

“Well, the feeling’s returned!” Amanda was smiling at him. So kindly. “I didn’t know you made trips to Earth. We ought to have arranged the same shuttle.”

“My work occasionally brings me to Earth, but I don’t receive as much advance notice as I would prefer.” Before Amanda could ask what his work was, exactly, Spock added: “And what brings you here?”

“A grand gala of ambassadors from all around the Federation, really. Sarek,” Amanda said by way of an explanation. “It’s quite nice. I don’t get to see these people as often as I would like – it happens that the ambassadors you see _most_ often are the ones you _least_ get along with. And, of course, Sarek needs to get some Terran air every now and then, he’ll get stale otherwise.”

Spock had to suppress the smile. As it was, the edges of his lips turned up and he had to look down into tea that’d just been brought to the table.

“It _has_ been a long time, hasn’t it? I think I last saw you – _oh!_ It was that dreadful business with Spock, wasn’t it? He wasn’t even _ten.”_

Yes, that had been the last time he’d seen her. Doubtless she had presumed that Selek had been present at the hordes of family gatherings that somehow occurred, between cousins and second cousins and third cousins and further, but her travels with Sarek limited how often she was able to see the rest of the S’chn T’gai family.

He could listen to her talk for hours. Spock missed the way his mother used to talk to him – even when Spock couldn’t muster more than a few words, Amanda had been content to fill the silence. Or simply, with an almost supernatural understanding of what was needed, let the silence be.

“It has been some time,” Spock agreed. “You look well.”

And she did. Considering.

He reached for his tea, blew on it, and took a sip with far more composure than he really felt. He had to keep himself composed. Falling to pieces would be disastrous, not when he was so close to returning to his time. “How have you been?”

Amanda gave him a little half-squint, half teasing like Spock had just made an _exceedingly_ funny joke that was nevertheless in poor taste. “Do you know Spock well, Selek?”

“Not at all. I don’t believe we’ve spoken since the incident with his sehlat … forgive me, I’ve forgotten her name.”

“Oh, I-Chaya, poor dear. Well, you won’t believe it, but Spock’s _twenty_ now.”

“That would be logical, given how much time had passed.”

He found that he did not like his mother saying his name. Well – no, of course he liked it. Too much, but it threatened the composure that he’d spent most of the night meditating on. She spoke the name with tenderness and love.

“Well, then. I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened with the, uhm …” Amanda rambled off, before lowering her voice. She spoke in a whisper, like anybody in the cafe would care about Vulcan goings-on. Spock would be willing to bet any number of valuable things that none of these individuals could name the Vulcan capital city. “Vulcan Science Academy.”

Spock breathed in. Oh, _yes,_ he had heard about what happened with the Vulcan Science Academy. At the time, it felt like his life had been ruined and Spock had blamed it on absolutely everyone.

To suddenly, fiercely, and irrationally hate all that you had ever known – all that you had ever loved – was a profoundly isolating experience. Spock had felt betrayed by everything: his father, his mother, the Vulcan Science Academy, his professors, the mountains, the sun, the stars. His existence had seemed like some grand cosmic prank. A hybrid that scientists made simply because they could, with the knowledge that it would immediately contract some terminal disease and die in agony.

It had not been a pleasant time in his life.

“I have heard of that,” Spock admitted with some feigned sheepishness. “It seemed incredibly irrational to me. Nobody has ever rejected an acceptance to the Vulcan Science Academy. It is simply unheard of. Perhaps Spock has more emotionality than logic.”

Amanda hadn’t liked that.

She cast him an irritated, disbelieving glance (the sort, Spock remembered, that he used to get when he had first discovered the concept of ‘lying’: he had once gleefully told his mother that the sun was lavender, simply because he could). “You know, every Vulcan I’ve ever met has told me that, Selek.” She gestured at him with a spoon. “But I ask _you –_ is there anything rational in denying part of yourself? Is there anything more logical than accepting everything that you are?”

Spock suddenly found that he was unable to speak. He had to raise his mug of tea to his lips, felt the slightly spiced warmth warm his tongue.

“Spock is my son. I’m _proud_ of his decision.”

Oh, Spock had to leave. Spock had to leave immediately. He couldn’t force his legs to move. For all intents and purposes, Spock was stuck staring at his mother with slightly wide eyes.

Amanda pursed her lips, concerned. “I only wish that he had an easier time being proud of his own decision, of course, but I think every mother wants that.” She reached to pick a part of the raspberry muffin, popping it in her mouth. “Oh – don’t look so _frightened,_ would you? I’m not going to bite you because you’ve expressed your opinions on Spock. Vulcans have more opinions than eyebrows.”

Spock eventually forced himself to speak. “I apologize for the harm I caused to your family, Amanda, know that I meant no offense.”

“ _Hrm,_ it’s alright. Nothing to be done about it now.” Amanda took a deep breath, shaking her head as if to rid herself of unwanted thoughts. “He’s made his choices. I’m not part of them.”

“Oh? And what has he done now?”

“Enrolled into Starfleet Academy.” Amanda chuckled to herself, bringing her coffee to her lips again. Vulcans didn’t drink coffee much. Caffeine was generally useless to most of them (Spock had gleefully noticed, once upon a time, that it was not so much useless to him). “Doesn’t that sound like him? Kicked down, only to enroll in the next most prestigious thing he can find?”

Spock didn’t know if he enjoyed how _noble_ Amanda had made it sound. At the time, Spock believed that he was doing so mainly out of spite. Starfleet had its reputation on Vulcan for being brash, headstrong, and so dripping with humanity that it inflicted its culture wherever it went. “I don’t know if the two are comparable.”

“Well – if it weren’t for Starfleet, _you and I_ would hardly be speaking right now, would we?”

“That’s true,” Spock murmured.

“And Starfleet’s always been good for those who want to stretch out their wings. I know Spock will be the best thing that they’ve ever seen. I only wish ...”

Amanda had trailed off, staring a little over Spock’s shoulder. Spock was acutely aware that there _were_ sounds going on around him, this was a cafe and they were in the middle of San Francisco. It was bustling with people on all sides – the movement of machinery, polite conversation between customers, and the ever-present down of the front door opening and shutting.

But for all intents and purposes, there was a small bubble around Spock and his mother, and he couldn’t stop looking at her.

“You only wish for what, Amanda?”

Her gaze snapped back to him, startled from her thoughts, before she relaxed into a faintly apologetic smile. “I don’t mean to put all this on you. It’s just been … weighing on me more heavily, recently, since we’ve stopped in San Francisco.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“ ‘Think nothing of it’? You’ve been spending too much time in San Francisco, Selek, that’s a Human phrase.” But Amanda seemed nevertheless swayed, and stared into her coffee. With a shrug of her shoulders, she murmured sadly: “I only wish that I’d told him as much. He hates me now, Selek. He is gone from me forever.”

“Hates you?” Spock’s tongue had turned to lead, feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. Conversely, something was fluttering inside of him – almost like a panic. “Amanda, how illogical.”

“Logical enough. He won’t speak to me, now. Hasn’t since he left Vulcan. Sarek won’t even try, and I’m not saying that he’s been the most understanding father about all of this, but … “ Amanda took in breath. “It’s probably too late. I can only hope, now, that he’s happy.”

Spock remembered how he felt during this period of time in his life. He had rejected every single call, and she would try again in a few weeks. It was a haunting cycle. Spock resolutely avoided everything when he thought they would be in town. It would be _years_ before he even spoke to them again – when he was on a starship, and such professional conversation was inevitable between ambassador and crewmember. Even so, the warm relationship that he had had with his mother was never repaired, not really. Spock had regarded them both with a distant familiarity until, one day, his planet exploded.

While it was tempting to wish that he’d taken every single call, it was also illogical. Spock only wished, now, that he had taken just one.

“Amanda, you are coming to an emotional conclusion based solely on the contents of your feelings.”

“You should never tell a Human woman that she’s being too emotional, Selek.” It was a teasing rebuke, partly to disguise the way that Spock saw the hitch in his mother’s breathing.

He knew that Amanda Grayson’s path was set out for her. Spock had changed what he had to in order to return home (even, Spock would argue with himself, bringing Jim in on this scheme). But changing her destiny – and changing the destiny of all the Vulcans – would send the galaxy hurtling on an unknown course. More than likely, he and Jim would never work together. Certainly they would never bond.

Spock would not play master of the universe, even if he wanted nothing more than to take his mother with him.

“Spock works independently of you. He may be upset and angry. Irrationally so,” Spock quickly added as an afterthought, because _Selek_ was meant to be fully Vulcan. “But he cannot escape matters of his own heart. He knows that you - “ Though perhaps not Sarek – “Care for him. Have wanted what was best for him. Love him. Amanda, how many times were you his only defender? The only one who could explain to him that he was not somehow flawed, but exhibiting perfectly rational Human behavior?”

Amanda didn’t answer. She wasn’t even pretending to eat or drink, now, but instead staring down at the table between them. Spock looked down and saw the glint of her wedding ring – Sarek had a similar one that he wore about his neck, beneath his robes. Spock could feel the weight of his own against his chest.

“You know what happened to Spock was unjust.” He could not force himself to speak as Selek, then. “And perhaps you and Sarek could have done more to prevent it. Perhaps not. It is too late to ponder. But know that Spock will always recall the woman who made it known – publicly and without shame – that he was not an aberration or a mistake. He was S’chn T’gai Spock. He was talented. Loved. And to hell with the rest of the galaxy if they couldn’t realize his value.”

It was a phrase that his mother had said to him, many times, in this exact context. As a young boy, Spock had always been surprised by the use of profanity. There were no curses in Vulcan. But there was a carefree nature to it. A confidence that Spock tried to achieve, but often lost. _If they don’t like you, Spock? Then to hell with them._

To his horror, Amanda had tears in her eyes. She let out a soft noise and reached for a napkin to dab them away. “Infinite diversity in infinite combinations, isn’t it?” She breathed out, shakily. “And yet …”

“And yet.” Spock understood.

“So _sorry_ about all of this. Don’t know where this is coming from.” She squeezed at her nose bridge for a moment, willing the tears away. “It’s just that … well, Selek. You just look so much like him. Older.”

“I have been told as much, perhaps we are closer in relation than I - ” Spock’s eyes fell on the clock behind Amanda.

He wanted to stay here forever. Of course he did. He wanted to speak with her, share old memories, just _live_ in his mother’s presence. But the clock behind him read 8:20. Spock would have to hurry if he had any hope of reaching Jim in time, and after what had occurred last evening, he did not want Jim to think he was abandoning him.

“I’m sorry, Amanda. I must go, I have … an appointment, in ten minutes.”

“Oh! Well, don’t let me keep you. It was good to see you, Selek – we’ll have to meet up, Sarek included, before we leave San Francisco. Let me know where you’re staying when you get a moment.”

“Of course I will. Of course I will.” Spock stood up from the table, his legs mercifully cooperating with it. He wished he could hug her, but he had already pressed against the bounds of credibility for his disguise. Vulcans did not hug, certainly not in public, and certainly not with other bonded women (her being his mother notwithstanding). “With regards to your son, Spock …”

Amanda perked up at that, staring up at him.

“He loves you. As he always will.” Spock raised his hand in traditional Vulcan greeting. “Live long and prosper.”

She returned the gesture without hesitation, smile spread wide. “Peace and long life, Selek.” Spock saw the stars in her eyes, and he loved them.

And then Spock was gone.

It was several blocks to reach the Starfleet grounds, but Spock would be lying if he said he felt a single step. Inwardly, there was a hurricane of emotions brewing around him that he was trying to get under control. His mother. His mother, alive and well in San Francisco, quietly grieving over the loss of contact with her only son. He wondered if she would mention this to Sarek. He wondered if Sarek would care much. He wondered if this would convince her to be more aggressive in seeking Spock out, or if she would just continue to let him be.

What Spock had said meant a lot to her, Spock could see that. And _that_ alone was worth the world. For her to know everything that Spock had felt but could never say since her death … that was a gift on its own.

His feet started to tread against grass when he stepped onto the lawn. The festivities from the previous night had all been cleaned up, returning the lawn to the cadets for their activities. Some were tanning, others were studying, some were playing sports game, others were having a picnic. Spock saw a large game of frisbee golf being played on the opposite end of it.

And, of course, a lone figure on the top of the hill. Jim was watching the cadets with curiosity, no doubt. He had made it. And all that remained was to go back to his own time.

He managed to keep his face composed while he mounted the top of the hill. This time, he didn’t startle Jim – at first. Jim turned around to greet him, raising a hand to say hello, before his face fell in shock.

“Whoa. You look _wrecked._ What the hell happened?”

And that was when Spock’s composure fell. He felt something prick at the corners of his eyes, a tell-tale swelling in his throat, and Spock was _mortified_ at doing this in front of Jim. Jim likely believed that Vulcans couldn’t cry, as many did, and indeed – many Vulcans felt like crying was an intolerable show of emotions.

He raised his hand to press against his eyes, as if pressing against the sockets would prevent any tears from coming out. Spock’s shoulders trembled and he sniffed, once, hard, before he felt arms around him.

Jim had stood from his spot and crossed over the hill. His arms slid around Spock – Jim had finished any growth spurts that he was going to have, and he was able to rest his head on Spock’s shoulder while pulling him into a tight hug.

Spock didn’t allow himself to completely break down in front of him. Jim still depended on him, after all, and he didn’t want Jim to think that he had lost faith in the plan. But – for obvious reasons – Spock didn’t feel like he could exactly _tell_ Jim what had just happened. So, he just kept his eyes covered with his hand and breathed in and out, slowly, slowly.

“It’s okay, man,” Jim soothed. His tone was halting, stilted; he didn’t precisely know how to comfort a man who appeared to be two decades older than him. “It’s gonna be okay. You and me, right? We’re gonna fix this. No way it’s gonna fail. No way. You’re gonna be all okay. I’m gonna make sure of it. Promise.”

And, although Jim was incorrect about the source of Spock’s distress, Spock found it soothing regardless. Because Jim _was_ correct – none of this would matter in approximately an hour. He would return to a future where his mother was dead and his planet destroyed, and that was the future where he belonged. To agonize himself in the past like this would be counter-intuitive.

When Spock finally extricated himself from the hug, only a few minutes later, he no longer felt the pinprick of tears behind his eyes. He was determined to see this through.

“Follow me,” Spock advised, nodding once at his companion. His voice was scratchy. “We have to go to the astrophysics building.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side-note, because sometimes I'm not sure how obscure this show is: In Star Trek the Animated Series, there's an episode where adult Spock gets sent in time to when baby Spock was, like, nine with his pet sehlat, I-Chaya. He says his name is Selek and eventually, through a series of escapades, has to put I-Chaya down after she's been mortally wounded. It's a bizarre episode with more Spock backstory than we got throughout all of TOS (IIRC it's practically the first time we get confirmed that Spock was heavily bullied as a child), but it just hit me the other day that The Animated Series is barely available anymore. So there you go! In case anyone was scratching their heads about why Spock decided to go by Selek here.  
> ***  
> Also, yikes, poor Amanda. Poor Spock. Poor babies. Thank you all for reading and leaving your comments or kudos, it's been very sweet to read through them! This has been one of my favorite Spirk fics to write, even towards the very end. This fic is going to get two more updates of two chapters apiece, if only because (as you might imagine) paths are converging and the next chapters are sort of grouped together. Until then!


	13. Somewhere in a Motel, San Francisco, 2251

Things hadn’t exactly gone according to plan, but that had been the story of Jim’s life so far.

Initially, Jim had been fully intending to go back to Spock’s place the second he was released out of jail. Hell, if they were feeling ballsy, they could try and make another attempt at breaking into the astrophysics laboratory building. Certainly Sarek wouldn’t be expecting them to reconvene and attempt another burglary right away. Everything could end that night.

However, the moment that Jim had stepped out of jail, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. _Monitored,_ even, and he turned his head to see a Vulcan leaning against a wall on the other side of the street. He was wearing formal attire, though perhaps not as gussied-up as Sarek had been.

He had felt ridiculous, at first. It was something out of a bad spy film. Sarek sending people out to _watch_ him, like he was some sort of threat? Then again, from Sarek’s point of view … _wasn’t he?_

But when Jim rounded the corner and looked behind him, that same Vulcan was there. Trailing just behind. Not being particularly _subtle,_ but Jim supposed that was the point. Sarek didn’t want his last twelve hours to pass with any sort of contact with Spock. _Jesus, asshole, I’m trying to get out of your hair,_ Jim thought irritably when he saw another Vulcan aide watching him from outside of a cafe.

He wished he had a better read on Sarek. It was too easy to just peg him as some sort of ‘sure I’ll bail my son out of jail but otherwise I don’t care what he gets into’ distant dad, but this amount of surveillance belayed a deeper kind of concern. Then again, Sarek probably had a dozen aides with him, so how much effort was this, really?

Either way, he wasn’t going to lead them right to Spock. If he wanted to Spock’s place, Sarek or his aides would show up within seconds.

So, Jim found somewhere to lay low. It was a little motel on the outskirts of town. Jim thought it was pretty strategically appropriate: not in the middle of San Francisco, kept the aides separated from Sarek, and a quiet place to sleep. He checked in and immediately holed himself up in his room for the night to plan.

The first thing that Jim did was to book a ticket on a shuttlecraft to a little trading colony outside of the Milky Way. It was pretty well known for being a resupply point before embarking on longer voyages – a last-stop gas shop to nowhere. At the very least, if Sarek looked him up, they would see he had a ticket booked. Granted, he’d be marked as a no-show come morning.

Sarek really was a piece of work sometimes. Jim was glad that Sarek – his Sarek, in his time – treated him with only cool indifference about being his father-in-law and not outright hostility. That would’ve made things awkward on the very, very few occasions that Jim had to meet Sarek in person.

He laid back on the bed and set his alarm for the middle of the night. Sarek wasn’t going to stop him from seeing this through, even if he had to pull a few tricks out of his sleeve.

***

4:30 AM. Jim Kirk was not as much a morning person as his husband was, but nervousness thrummed in his veins from the second he opened his eyes.

Jim got up and replicated two outfits: another cadet uniform, which was quickly stuffed into a bag, and some casuals. If Sarek’s aides were still outside, he didn’t need a bright ass uniform giving him away. He hoped that these guys weren’t keeping a read on his room in the middle of the night.

He opened up the window. Outside was pleasantly cool and the stars shone up above in a cloudless night. The smallest sliver of red was on the horizon. Plenty of time. Shimmying down the fire escape (only faintly recalling his early days of escaping through his bedroom window when Frank was being capital-D-for-dickbag Difficult downstairs), Jim escaped into the night with his bag thrown over his shoulder.

Once he’d gotten some distance from the motel, Jim looked over his shoulder to see the front of it. There were Sarek’s aides, sitting outside like they were guarding some VIP, but …

They were guarding the wrong room?

The surprise of it stopped Jim in his tracks.

Sarek and his appendages didn’t _make_ mistakes. Not something as simple as what room that he was staying in. Unsurprising that they’d actually been able to track him down to the motel, but their eyes were all glued on the absolute, dead-wrong _door._ It seemed like an obvious mistake to make, and yet. But hey, he was due for a little luck, wasn’t he?

Sucked to be whoever was in that room, that was for sure.

Jim pulled his hoodie up over his head when he got into the city, still wary. At this time of night, all but the rowdiest cadets had decided to call it quits and head home. He was mostly on the streets alone, occasionally pushing by a stumbling cadet or sleepy overnight worker.

Man, there were some nights when he _missed_ San Francisco. Yes, he was being pursued by a powerful Ambassador’s aides after Spock assisted him with breaking and entering into a secret facility with the hope of jury-rigging a transporter into pushing him into the future – but _damn,_ it was good to get out of a Captain’s chair sometimes. Nothing like the excitement and danger of being on your own - and there was certainly nothing like big streets and tall buildings and the feeling that he _wasn’t_ in control of every little thing around him.

Jim did _not_ know how he survived all those years at the Academy, really. Bones was a lifesaver.

It took him longer than he expected to get back to Spock’s apartment on foot. Still, it was probably a good thing – Jim had moved slower to make sure that he wasn’t being followed, and by the time he stepped into the elevator of Spock’s building, he was reasonably confident that the aides had lost the scent. He didn’t think they’d ever left the motel, really.

Somehow.

The sun was rising, and the light was getting into Jim’s eyes. He raised one arm to cover them as he looked out over the city skyline.

Conviction filled him – he was going to get this _goddamn done._ There was nothing in the world that could keep him from his ship, or his husband, or the family that he’d had to manually forge together. Jim could be put in the middle of nowhere with a screwdriver and a juicebox and cobble together a particle accelerator, if need be. The game wasn’t over until someone blew the whistle.

Stepping out from the elevator, Jim strode quickly down the hallway until he found himself in front of Spock’s door again. _His_ Spock woke up at the ass-crack of dawn, or the closest thing to it.

Only one way to found out. Jim raised his fist and pounded at the door, _thump-thump-thump._ It was loud enough for one of Spock’s neighbors to peek their head out of their door and give Jim a dirty look, which Jim pretended to ignore.

Jim heard the sliding of the door lock, and then the door opened.

Spock didn’t look like he’d gotten any sleep. There were dark blemishes underneath his eyes, and while he had changed, he didn’t look like he’d put _that_ much effort into looking casually disheveled today. He had on a baggy black sweatshirt that could’ve easily fit two Spocks. His hair was loose and ruffled.

As soon as his eyes fell on him, Jim beamed.

“Jim?” Spock asked, his voice hitching.

“Morning!”

Almost as soon as Spock realized what was going on, he looked up and down the hallway before ushering Jim inside. Good. Jim was starting to get visions of Vulcan aides busting through the stairwell and tackling him to the ground.

“How was last night?” Jim asked, setting his back on the ground. “You got home okay?”

Spock was staring at him with a stunned expression.

“Earth to Planet Spock. You good?” He moved to collapse on the sofa, waving his wrist in the air. “Sarek didn’t get in your skull too bad last night, did he?”

“I …” Spock trailed off; his voice had left him. He still stared at Jim like he had three heads. “I did not expect to see you again.”

 _Oh._ Jim blinked at Spock a few times, before … _yeah, duh._ There was nothing that scared people off like their dads threatening to prosecute you for the crimes you committed, and, weirdly enough, that wasn’t even the first time Jim had experienced that. Dating in Riverside had been weird sometimes.

“It was a setback, but, uh. Yeah. Still need you, buddy.” And he did. “That didn’t stop just because Sarek stuck his nose in. Oh, by the way, your dad? My opinion from last night stands. He’s still an asshole.”

Nope. Still a total deer in the headlights. Jim was starting to get the idea that something was wrong. “I don’t – I don’t understand, Jim.”

Jim took his best shot at the miscommunication, but the conclusion seemed _grim._ “I mean, look, if you don’t _want_ to help, I’m not gonna force you. I can’t exactly take you hostage. But I’d get it, after what happened.”

And he _would_ get it. Jim didn’t know what he would do, especially with Sarek demanding him off-planet – and there would definitely be some begging involved on Jim’s part, he wasn’t too proud – but what was he going to do, exactly? Hold a phaser to the head of the guy that he was going to marry someday and make him commit a crime? This was a lot, _especially_ to place on a twenty-year-old going through a rough time. This wasn’t a crewmember that Jim could order around at will, this was _practically_ a kid.

“What? No.” Spock replied, shaking his head. “I – I didn’t think you would want me to help any longer, after what happened.”

“After what – _Spock,_ please tell me you’re not blaming yourself.” Spock looked down at his feet in such an outwardly innocent gesture that Jim had to laugh in shock. “ _Still?_ For God’s sake.”

“It is not that. I should have done something earlier. Spoken up to my father, when he caught us in the laboratory. Perhaps if I had - “

“He wouldn’t have cut us a deal later on. Probably would’ve gotten us arrested anyway. Look, Spock, I’ve been in a thousand situations like that. That went about as well as it could’ve gone.” Jim waved his hand at him. “And the ultimatum that he gave me, about kicking me off the planet? That’s not going to be a problem, we’ll finish before the deadline’s up. It went _well.”_

Spock looked like he didn’t particularly _feel_ that. He put both hands in his hoodie pocket, still staring down at the ground.

Sometimes, cadets got the impression early on that everything could be wrapped up with a smile and post-credits jingle. That it just took the right combination of words and the right strategy to fix everything that was wrong with the universe – and that attitude definitely _helped,_ of course. But more often than not, Jim had found that it was constant negotiations and re-negotiations until someone settled from frustration or boredom, and the only thing he could do was be more determined than the other guy.

When things went too well, it usually just meant that they were waiting to stab him in the back when he turned around.

People tried to teach that in the Academy, sometimes, but it was hard to _really_ understand the sensation until you felt it. Ironically enough, Jim remembered that Spock tried to teach that on a number of occasions, and _Jesus_ that was a depressing thing to sit through. Spock could turn any rainbow gray if they shared a room long enough.

Because, for every obstacle Jim encountered, there were three people who wanted to help him along the way. People who shared what he wanted – people who were willing to _help_ – people who cared, hoped, and loved the same things that he did. He wouldn’t have been in this job if he smashed his nose against another brick wall every morning.

“Trust me, Spock,” Jim told him. “You’re the only guy for this job. And I need you for this.”

“I trust you.” It was a whisper, practically, and Spock raised his gaze to level at Jim. He seemed a little stiff, a little robotic – a good indicator that Spock was getting overwhelmed.

“Well. I trust you.” A light-hearted grin spread across Jim’s face. “Obviously. You’re a little greener – _heh! -_ than my Spock, but same guy. Beneath all the surface stuff.”

Relief flooded him. The plan would go on as scheduled. They just had to be careful, and covert, and _maybe –_ if they were lucky – if Jim made his one in a million shot – then they would be okay. Spock seemed somewhat cheered, anyway, withdrawing his hands from his pockets and letting them hang stiff and loose by his side.

“You want to return home to your husband that much, to risk angering my father further?” Spock asked, and – huh. Jim didn’t recognize that emotion on Spock. His eyebrows had pulled together, but Spock’s eyes seemed about as wide as dinnerplates. “To … me?”

“Well – _yeah?”_ The question seemed obvious to him, after everything that had happened. “Not only would he do the same for me in a heartbeat, he’s … you know. He’s my world. Sort of comes with the whole _t’hy’la_ thing, doesn’t it? ‘Parted from me and never parted’.”

The Vulcan phrase made Spock flinch, but he didn’t look displeased to hear it. Instead, Spock just stared into what felt like Jim’s soul for a long pause. _Man,_ he wished he could figure out what bounced around that thick Vulcan skull every now and then, before Spock simply nodded.

“I believe you.”

“Hah – was that in question? You were putting a lot of faith in me if you didn’t believe my whole ‘I’m from the future’ thing.”

“No. I have believed that for some time. I believe when you said that, in the future, I will be happy. I will be happy if I have someone like you in my life.”

If _that_ didn’t take Jim out like a gut punch. He wasn’t going to start crying in front of the guy, but his chest felt like a simmering pot, staring at this poor guy in front of him. Not for the first time, he wished he could leave something with Spock. A reminder of what things were going to be like, some sense of hope. Jim could only hope that the memories would be enough. Vulcans never forgot a face.

“I should change.” Spock looked down at his attire. “The sun has risen; there will be some concern if we are not wearing cadet uniforms.”

“Got myself covered. You eat breakfast already?” Jim asked, and at Spock’s clearly hesitant demeanor, he shook his head. “Grab a granola bar or something, okay? Not saying we’re _swimming_ in time, here, but grab something to eat before you go. Don’t give me that look.” He flashed a smile. “I’m your superior officer, bub.”

Jim was gifted a Vulcan eye-roll before Spock retrieved a granola bar from his pantry. He made what was _probably_ a deeply condescending show of opening it before departing for his room.

He reached in his bag and withdrew his cadet uniform. A blue cadet uniform had been perfectly fine the first go-around, but Jim had decided to try something a little different. He grinned down at the familiar command yellow. There was nothing that made a guy feel like hot shit, even as a cadet, than donning command yellow. Well – maybe Spock felt the same way about blue.

Jim looked at himself in the mirror, picking at wisps of hair and trying to flatten them down on his head.

Hell, he hoped Spock was back on the _Enterprise._ He hoped that Spock had escaped whatever the hell this was and was sitting pretty, half-worried to death, waiting for Jim to get himself out of his latest disaster. The bond didn’t feel _broken,_ so Jim was pretty sure that Spock wasn’t dead, but …

He was Human. This was _really_ not his area, this bond health stuff. Still, it was soothing to imagine Spock reaching for him when he beamed up onto the transporter pad, maybe stifling a laugh at that sight of Captain Kirk in a cadet’s uniform.

He’d take that.

Behind him, he saw Spock’s bedroom door open and the man come walking out.

He had changed into his uniform, of course, but Spock had also taken the time to change a couple of other things about his appearance.

His hair and makeup was almost identical to when Jim had first met him days ago in that nightclub. He had pulled his hair back low on his neck, had combed his fringe over his eyebrows. Somehow, between the walk from his bathroom mirror to the living room, his eyeliner had already been smudged beyond salvation. He had put on his long gloves to cover his hands once more.

Although he was wearing his uniform underneath, Spock had also thought to throw over a black, shiny leather jacket. There were careful rips in the shoulders.

“ _Whoa,_ badass,” Jim tried to get out, but he was laughing too hard to really be comprehensible. He had tears in his eyes and pressed his thumbs to his eyesockets in order to stop them.

Rather than appear embarrassed, Spock seemed to gain an element of pride. He stood with his back straight, hands on his hips, and – to Jim’s delight – was even sporting a ghost of a smile.

It was so good to see Spock – _this_ Spock – happy. And even if it wasn’t happiness, it was good to see this Spock with a goal. _Motivation._

Jim pushed himself off the couch and gave Spock a curt nod. “Alright, rockstar. Let’s roll.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> autobots roll out


	14. Somewhere in a Starfleet Laboratory, 2251

“There’s something I gotta tell you, Selek.” Jim whispered by his side while he and Spock briskly made their way down the hallway. “Before we do this.”

Spock fought off the gnawing dread in his stomach. “I would hope this isn’t critical information, considering we’re approximately two minutes away from committing an egregious criminal trespass against the United Federation of Planets.”

“Nah. It’s just those Vulcans I saw last night.”

They were at the terminal in front of the laboratory. Spock’s fingers hovered over the terminal and he cast a side-glance to Jim. This was _not_ what they needed right now. “Yes?”

“It’s probably nothing. Seriously, probably nothing. But when I left the motel this morning, to come and meet you, they looked … I dunno. Pissed.”

“A group of _Vul-cans,”_ Spock enunciated, “Looked … pissed.”

“Hey, I’m _practically_ an expert on Vulcan behavior.” Spock was not in the mood to correct that, at a maximum, he was an expert on _half_ -Vulcan behavior. “And you know that look cats get when they see a mouse except they do the hunting thing and it’s actually a leaf?”

“I do not know if it is a desirable quality of most cultural specialists to compare the people-of-interest to common animals.”

“You know what I mean. They just looked _really_ intense after I stepped out the door, and then sort of leaned back in their chairs like they were playing it cool.”

Unusual. Spock couldn’t think of why. He had practically been at Jim’s side for the entire journey. Certainly, Jim had not been independent enough to inspire the ire of several Vulcans – though Jim _did_ have a spectacular talent for such things, that being said. “You don’t think you were followed?” Spock asked lowly.

After a moment’s hesitation, Jim shook his head. Spock keyed in the passcode to the lab.

They couldn’t waste their time in delaying a vital mission for what could have been nothing, of course. It wasn’t that Spock believed these mysterious Vulcans – whoever they were – presented a serious threat to _him._ It was that, when the settings were punched in and Spock was transported away from here, he was going to be leaving Jim Kirk alone to deal with the fallout.

And while he had every dreg of confidence that Jim could pull himself out of anything should he put his mind to it, Spock didn’t want to leave any unintentional messes for him to clean up.

The doors slid open in front of them, and Spock moved forward.

“Jim, please keep up,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. Up ahead, a dusty transporter was collecting dust. Its twin was somewhere deeper in the lab, used to test the conditions of transport based on a series of parameters. Of course, when Spock was in the lab, this transporter was never used on a person. Cells in a Petri dish. Papers. An _apple._ It would have to do. He hoped that it didn’t spit his atoms out across the galaxy.

Behind him, he saw Jim turning around and staring at everything up in awe. “It’s like a _warehouse,_ Selek. Shit, I know you didn’t want to tell me a lot, but you gotta tell me what they were _doing_ here.”

Spock brought up the panel at the transporter and started typing in settings. One of the beauties of Vulcan memory, he supposed, was being able to recall even long-ago memories at will. Even if his memory wasn’t as powerful as a typical Vulcan, Spock had worked in this lab for two years, keying in these settings every day. They were practically muscle memory, even after so many years had passed.

It saved him plenty of mental capacity to wonder about Jim’s question. After all, Spock would not be here without his companion, would he?

He could understand Jim’s curiosity. Large sheets were thrown over most of the equipment, but their odd shapes were unusual. So many parts of the _USS Kelvin_ were rebuilt here. Spock, himself, had sat in a recreation of the _USS Kelvin_ ’s captain chair.

That particular construction’s purpose was to investigate whether there was any scenario where George Kirk would have lived. Any strategy, or combination of orders that he could have given to save his life. Any more lives.

Spock had not worked on that project. He preferred to work in the computer simulations only. It was too emotionally tinged – particularly with what he was struggling with at the time. Although Spock tried to imitate Humans, he found their grief hard to relate to. After all, they had not met George Kirk. Why would they be so solemn about the destruction of the _USS Kelvin?_

He understood it more, now.

“They investigate unusual astronomical phenomena here, Jim,” Spock answered. To hound off Jim’s expected protest, he added: “Particularly the unusual astronomical phenomena observed in the _USS Kelvin.”_

Jim had helped him. Spock repeated that sentence to himself internally. Jim deserved to know some things that had been hidden from him.

“The _USS Kelvin.”_ Jim repeated, once. Spock could not see his face from where he was standing, eyes glued to the terminal. He was pleased that he couldn’t.

“Indeed.”

“Well, shit. All comes full circle, I guess. Never thought I’d be so close to … they don’t talk about it a lot, back home. Beyond, you know, dubiously xenophobic comments about Romulans.” Behind him, he could hear Jim’s footsteps. Peeking under sheets. Running his hand over equipment. “And you need to use this transporter here, because …?”

“Because standard transporters do not have these settings included. You must understand that the circumstances around the destruction of the _USS Kelvin_ were bizarre and singular.”

“Right. But you won’t tell me where you’re going, you just need to use the transporter with highly sensitive information coded on it.”

Spock’s fingers hovered over the terminal in thought. “I apologize, Jim.” But he couldn’t tell him, could he? He’d gotten this far without telling Jim the truth. And perhaps it would cause pain for Jim, but soon, he would be gone. And this would all be moot.

Spock just had to keep telling himself this. Jim – this Jim, his friend, the man who would grow to be more precious to him than his own life – was _incredible._ He would survive.

“Man, how – how _funny_ would it be if you were some Romulan spy? Just like Tim thought when I first found you back in that field. Full circle, even. Just my luck.”

There was a strange tone in Jim’s voice that made Spock lean up and turn around from the terminal.

Jim was staring at him, clearly overwhelmed. His hand was clenched into a fist, almost shaking with the intensity by his side. He didn’t look _upset_ over at Spock, but there was a shine to his eyes that had not been there before. Spock could practically see the gears turning.

“Jim,” Spock urged. “Do you not trust me?”

_Please. Please, you need to stand by the transporter. You cannot leave me now._

“No. I do. Of course I do.” The fist was relaxed, and Jim had to look to the side. Relief ran over Spock like cool water. “Because if I don’t, then I’m the biggest sucker in the galaxy.”

After a moment of mental calculation, Spock understood Jim’s sudden uncertainty. Being here, in this laboratory, made everything feel real – quite illegal – and possibly gigantically immoral. If Spock _was_ some sort of Romulan spy, seeking to take advantage of a youth’s naivete and familial situation to get halfway across the country – _well._ Jim had assisted him every step of the way, happily.

“Is that the only reason? Fear?”

Despite himself, Spock’s question came out in a hurt tone of voice. The phrase ‘ _all we’ve been through together_ –‘ entered his mind, and was quickly banished.

“No, no. No. _Jesus,_ sorry, I’m –” Jim shook his head. “Not everyone’s out to get me. You taught me that, didn’t you? Trusting people. What a concept.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah. You did. The world’s not divided into dumbasses and jackasses. I’m no dumbass and you’re no jackass. I mean, mostly.” Walking forward, Jim clapped a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “Tell me what you need me to do, buddy, and I’m your guy.”

He was thrilled that he hadn’t turned Jim more cynical than he had been in the original timeline. Spock privately considered Jim to be one of the most amicable and trusting men in the galaxy, and he would be _devastated_ had he irrevocably altered the course of that on this timeline.

Warmth bloomed through his veins, fond and relieved – until _everything_ started to burn.

The heat seemed centered in his side, right at the location of his heart. It was sudden enough – and powerful enough – and _painful_ enough that Spock’s hand clamped over it, almost toppling over with its intensity. His heart was racing; he could feel it in his breath and in his fingertips. Spock let out a half-articulated gasp, hand fumbling to grasp Jim’s shirt.

“ _Selek!_ Selek, fuck _me,_ what’s – what’s going on? What’s up?”

Spock’s mind tried to find an explanation. A heart attack? This would be a very _inconvenient_ time to be having a cardiac event, given all circumstances, but then again, the medical effects of time travel were not well developed. Ambassador Spock had hopped _timelines,_ that was true, but they knew of nobody who had lived an extraordinary length of time in the past or future and –

He heard footsteps coming from the front door. Fast ones.

 _No._ Spock felt himself struggle to his feet, standing. Had they been found out so quickly? He thought they would have more time. They only needed _minutes_ more, but – no. He would not put Jim in danger. “ _Jim,”_ Spock hissed to the man in front of him. “Run. _Now._ Do you understand? Do not wait for me, do not attempt to intervene on my behalf.” If this truly _was_ a medical emergency, then Spock supposed he would provide ample bait, if nothing else. “ _Go._ Hide somewhere. Stay safe.” The last command was given out as a snarl.

“What, no no no - “ In front of him, it looked like Jim’s world was starting to crumble. “Are you _crazy?_ I’m not leaving you, man, I –”

“ _SPOCK!”_

The word seemed to struck Spock to his very core, echoing across the laboratory walls and sheeted construction. He knew that voice. And why would he not? It was the same voice as the man right in front of him, slightly deepened by age and misfortune. He had missed that voice so painfully.

When he saw Jim – _his_ Jim – at the end of the hallway, sprinting towards him, everything fell into place. Spock’s soul _yearned_ for him, for the soul at the other end of the bond who was overwhelmed and shocked and _yearned_ to reach him right back.

Spock was running before he could think of anything else. He didn’t see the younger Jim at that moment, nor the figure that was coming up behind the elder Jim. He only saw Jim running at him right back, his face shiny with sweat and breathing quick.

They collided hard, slamming into one another with such force that they both nearly went toppling. As it was, Spock’s feet left the ground as he threw his arms around Jim’s neck. Jim’s arms, in return, grasped Spock by his lower back to hold him tight against his chest. Mercifully, after a second, Spock’s boots touched ground again. He did not pull away. He could not pull away. He felt like it would be easier to split himself in two than pull away.

Neither he or Jim said anything, at first, embracing each other as they were. Spock could feel Jim’s warm skin against his. As if he had any doubt, Jim was reflecting the same aching longing and love and _pain_ that he’d experienced with the absence of his bondmate.

Spock’s hand moved to cup the back of Jim’s skull. He could _sing._ He could _dance._ He could simply _expire_ from the feeling of having Jim in his arms yet again, but as it was, he would only pulse emotions of genuine euphoria across the bond. Jim was the first to speak.

“Missed – missed you too, Spock,” Jim croaked out, his voice cracking. Spock couldn’t speak, for fear that he would do the same. “Oh, _god,_ hon, I never thought in a million years …”

Spock understood. He raised his head so he could press a kiss, hard, against Jim’s temple. “ _Ashayam,”_ he whispered.

It was tempting to simply stay like that forever, because letting go of Jim _generally_ meant he was going to lose Jim very quickly right after.

“I know. I know, I know.” Jim’s voice had retreated into its own whisper, thick with emotion. _I need a moment,_ Spock thought to himself. He could feel his shoulders trembling. _I just need a moment._

 _Take your moment,_ a thought that was not his own pulsed across the bond for the first time in Spock’s life, _I got you, hon._

Spock had returned his head to the crook of Jim’s neck, so he did not see the dark figure pass behind his Jim and stride up to the younger Jim. He did, however, hear the gasp that erupted from him and two pointed questions, flung at each other like an accusation.

“Who are _you_?”

“ _Who are you!?”_

Ah, yes. Spock had forgotten – only momentarily – that he and Jim were not the only two people in the room. The reality of what occurred was enough to snap him back into his own mind. This needed to be handled. The situation at hand was still quite dire.

He raised his head from Jim and turned around to face the transporter. One arm still stayed around his bondmate.

In front of him, the younger Jim was pointing at – oh, _no._

Spock instinctively flinched next to his bondmate.

The younger version of himself ( _oh,_ _no_ _, he remembered that jacket)_ stood in front of the younger version of Jim. Spock could only see a portion of his own younger face there, with his back to him, but seeing Jim’s face was enough – they were both regarding each other in a state of absolute shock. Jim’s mouth was hanging open.

Spock could understand the feeling, and it had been precisely what he was trying to avoid. The younger Jim’s eyes flicked between both Spocks in the room, gears ticking away in his brain. Perhaps they were wearing different clothing, but there was little denying the facial features, the bearing. He stepped forward and put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. _I can explain._

Before a word could leave his mouth, they were interrupted by the sound of Jim’s watch _buzzing_ out an alarm. “ _Argh,”_ Jim winced. “We don’t have time. Spock, if you can’t get this thing up and running soon we’re gonna be up to our eyeballs in Sarek’s aides.”

Spock didn’t want to know what trouble he’d gotten himself into. The phrase ‘Sarek’s aides’ was enough explanation. To his surprise, the younger Spock responded to the name as well, and both went jogging up to the terminal independently.

 _Oh, I cannot take you seriously,_ Spock internally rebuked his younger counterpart. It was one thing to have his memories, it was entirely another to have him here in person. That ridiculous leather jacket. That _fringe._ That terrible aftershave. Was this around the time that he would frequent nightclubs with the intention of either getting into a fight or hooking up? It certainly was. The elder Spock, strictly speaking, got to the terminal first – but his counterpart was right by his elbow, looking like he was ready to jump in should he need to.

Or – no, that wasn’t where his gaze was, was it? His younger self was boring holes into the side of Spock’s face with his eyes, enough to make Spock feel steadily self-conscious. _He,_ out of this pair, being self-conscious. He couldn’t imagine. The other Spock looked like a raccoon and _he_ felt self-conscious.

Behind him, he heard both Jims speak together, very lowly. Spock didn’t waste time trying to eavesdrop on them. They didn’t have time.

To his counterpart, he murmured professionally: “I apologize. I have more experience than you in this matter, but I have no doubt that you would also be able to perform the task adequately. Unfortunately, brevity is crucial.”

“No. _Yes,”_ his younger self blurted out. He seemed to force himself to drag his eyes away and look at the terminal. They weren’t reading the lines of code spreading across the screen. Spock’s fingers were practically a blur on the terminal. “I am aware. You are me.”

 _Ah._ Jim had told him. Spock couldn’t let that bother him, now, but Jim would be getting a _sound_ lecture about the regulations of time-travel if they both survived this. Spock keyed in another parameter. The entire laboratory’s power went dark as a result, before the backups kicked in a half-second later. Spock breathed a little easier. He’d been worried about that one.

“Yes,” Spock murmured, letting his finger trail down a scroll-bar. _Hurry, hurry,_ the alarm bells in his head rang. “Significantly older.”

“The first officer of a starship.”

“Mhm.”

“And your Captain is – “

“Over there.”

“Your bondmate,” the younger Spock repeated simultaneously, as if this was all just sinking in for the first time. Spock tried to have sympathy for him, because who else knew what he was going through as well as he? But a part of him also wanted to grasp himself by the shoulders, shake, and demand to know _why_ it had taken so long when everything seemed so simple, in retrospect.

Or – perhaps not simple, but this child had been confident he’d found the answer to his lifelong insecurities and troubles. And Spock _now_ could only see it for what it was: a desperate attempt to be what he thought people wanted, no different than what he had tried to be on Vulcan. Just more shades of black. And more aggression.

The transporter thrummed to life. Spock could feel the vibrations in the bottoms of his feet. _Good,_ good. “Your ears are …”

Spock straightened his spine a half-millimeter. “What?” By the age of twenty, he had _certainly_ gotten over any growth spurts, but then again, nobody would’ve pointed it out to him if his ears had gotten bigger, would they? He raised a hand to touch the tips of his ears.

“They’re just, you know. They’re _out._ You’ve got – “ The younger Spock traced his distinctive fringe, pin-straight. “The traditional Vulcan hairstyle. You _look_ – “

“Vulcan? Perhaps. We are Vulcan.” Spock reached for one of the physical mechanisms on the panel, pulling a large lever down. It swung with a satisfying _tck-tck-tck-thud_ before staying down. The transporter shot up a beam of light, striking against the ceiling. “However, it is important to clarify that I do not always act according to Vulcan principles, nor Human ones. I act as I wish.” _A lesson that will save you mountains of embarrassment._

“And, it’s, I mean - “

“I do not have the time to explain your entire future to you.” While it sounded harsh, it was also a truth. Spock didn’t know what was going on with Sarek’s aides, but Jim had clearly been antsy. There was nothing that induced more anxiety than a worried Captain. “But – rest assured that I am comfortable this way. We are successful and respected.”

His younger self fell silent as Spock keyed in the rest of the settings. The last matter was a large navigator map. Spock manipulated it with his hands, trying to find the specific portion of starspace that the _USS Enterprise_ had been located in. He was still being watched by himself, but perhaps that was fine. After all, at that age, had he ever _considered_ that he would dress so plainly Vulcan? That he would hold his posture so stiffly? That he would keep his face so carefully composed with no shame?

“Do you regret it?” His companion blurted out eventually, staring up at him with shiny eyes. “I know we must hurry, but - you have the advantage of hindsight, do you not? Do you believe we would have been more fulfilled in the Vulcan Science Academy, as per Father’s wishes?”

The thought was nearly laughable. As it was, Spock sent his younger self a withering side-eye. “In hindsight, Spock, joining Starfleet was the best decision that we could have made at that time. Do not doubt that. I think you are aware of that already, but I can understand needing validation about your decision.”

There those coordinates were. Spock zoomed in on them, still trying to avoid the eyes. “I have so much to ask – “

“And none of which I can tell you.” A beat passed, and Spock locked in on the coordinates. The terminal slowed for a moment, calibrating, before glowing green. “I apologize. But your future must remain your own. I have no legacy to gift you, Spock, and you must chart your own journey into the galaxy.” He couldn’t help but soften his features when he turned to look down at him.

The younger Spock’s eyes were wide, staring at him in astonishment and – yes, perhaps even a little terror. Spock could see that his fingers were trembling in the slightest degree. He could not say what Jim had told him, but clearly seeing Spock in person like this made things _much_ more attainable. Spock stood there, spine straight, brimming with confidence and rationality. “As you already have,” he finished.

A soft noise made Spock turned towards the Jims. His bondmate’s arm was around the younger one – who looked, Spock noticed, rather like he was going to be ill. A sweat shone on his face. “Don’t worry,” his Jim called out, “I’ve gotten him up to speed.”

 _Of course he did._ Spock couldn’t suppress a frustrated sigh. “ _Jim._ I had managed to keep the future hidden from him since I arrived here, crossing most of the country – I turn my back for _two_ minutes - “

“Hey, can’t screw things up worse at this point,” Jim cut him off cheerfully, thumping his younger counterpart on the back once. The force was almost enough to topple the young man over, if only from shock. “And he was gonna figure it out anyway. We’re the spitting image.”

Some of Jim’s good mood, Spock knew, was attributed to their reunion. He could feel it. For the same reason, Spock couldn’t inspire anything more than faint irritation that spoiled into fondness. “The transporter is set,” he intoned. “We have approximately 180 seconds until it fires.”

No time at all. Spock’s eyes fell on the younger Jim, and time seemed to slow.

He looked like he’d just been punched in the gut. Sympathy swelled up in him. Of course the younger Jim knew that it would always end this way, but that made it hurt no less and prepared him no more. Spock could see out of the corner of his eye that his Jim was looking at the younger Spock the same way.

Both the elder counterparts moved towards their younger companions at once. Jim moved to speak in quiet words with the young science cadet, and Spock found himself in front of Jim.

“You must realize that it was absolutely necessary, at the time, not to tell you the truth of the future. Clearly Jim – Captain Kirk made an executive decision otherwise.” It felt too much like an apology. And perhaps, in a sense, it was – not an apology for his behavior, but that situations could be difficult and complicated and please nobody.

His younger companion took a deep breath and wobbled his head. “I’m not – I think I’m too, like, freaked out to be pissed off? Lucky for you, I guess. It's probably good that you're ...” Jim's gaze drifted to the thrumming transporter, and didn't finish.

“I can understand why.” The transporter started to pulse behind them, firing up. Spock turned back towards his friend, his eyes starting to search him more intently. “Despite the decision, know that I genuinely enjoyed our time together. I did not expect to enjoy a moment of my time away from my bondmate, uncertain of his health and safety, but –”

“Ha. But you weren’t away, _really,_ huh? Selek – Spock, whatever.” Jim told him, looking up. “Must’ve been _so_ weird for you.”

 _You have no idea._ “Indeed. In its own way, however, reaffirming.” Spock looked down into Jim’s wide blue eyes. Behind him, the lights of the transporter beam flickered across their forms, casting long shadows down the hall. “That my _t’hy’la_ was exactly the same courageous, kind, and trusting man as a youth as he was when I met him.”

Jim swallowed, his eyes flicking to Spock and then to his older counterpart, still quietly murmuring to one another beside the transporter. “Yeah. Well, I, uh. I.” He swallowed. “Clearly I batted out of my league.” He was fighting to keep his voice steady, Spock could tell, and sentiment overwhelmed him. In his defense, the sorrow he was feeling at the idea of leaving this Jim was only compounded by the sorrow coming from across his bond.

Spock stepped forward and put his arms around Jim’s shoulders, pulling the youth into a hug. Jim didn’t hesitate to raise his own arms and squeeze Spock back, so tight around the middle that he felt his spine crack. It was an urgent, almost desperate gesture.

Over Jim’s shoulder, Spock could see that the other counterparts were exchanging a handshake. His bondmate squeezed the younger Spock’s shoulder firmly, his eyes alight as he spoke. Spock could not hear what was said, but it was clear from Jim’s smile that he was brimming with … pride?

_We don’t have much time._

The younger Jim didn’t let go when Spock did. Eventually, Spock had to put his hands on Jim’s shoulders and gently, _gently_ push him away. Jim’s face was completely red, and Spock did not think it was from embarrassment.

“Be well, Jim. Take care of yourself and please be mindful about what ripples my bondmate and I may have caused.”

Jim choked out a laugh, betraying the lump in his throat. “That’s me. Mindful.” He took a deep breath that whistled through his nose. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much, man.”

“I have no doubts that you will be.” And, with that, he heard the transporter start to hum at a fever pitch, the lights growing more intense. Spock watched them cycle for a moment, before turning back. “Farewell, Jim. It was my honor and privilege to be your traveling companion.”

There were tears in Jim’s eyes; he could see them now. Jim was swallowing rapidly, trying not to draw attention to it, but all he succeeded was making his chin crinkle up and his lip wobble. It was a gesture that reminded Spock how young this poor man was, and how much he’d been through already. “Yeah,” he got out, voice thick. “Catch you later, Spock. It’s been – it’s been great.”

Spock felt the strangest sense of loss when he released Jim’s shoulder. Hearing a whistle, he saw the elder Jim already waiting for him. One foot of his was on the transporter pad, the other on the stairs leading up. “You really know how to cut it close, babe,” he teased affectionately, extending one hand out for his bondmate.

Taking his hand, Spock pulled himself onto the transporter pad. It was hard to see out into the laboratory with the intensity of the pulsing lights around him – and hard to _think_ much with the feelings pulsing in across their touch. Jim was nearly ablaze with determination, as if he could transport himself across time and space through sheer will. Though, Spock considered, if any man could do it …

He’d never felt such activity through the bond before, but this was – he had to admit – a most unusual situation.

His eyes fell on the youths in front of him. There was Jim, standing some feet back, his eyes firmly locked on Spock. When their gazes met, Jim raised a hand and gave him a wave. A singular tear had escaped from his eye, rolling down the curve of his cheek.

The younger Spock was at the terminal, his head bowed as he watched the readings scroll by. Just as Spock felt the transporter start to disassociate their particles, his younger counterpart looked up from the terminal and fixed a look on Jim. Spock could not read any emotions on the cool, calm face at all … except for, perhaps, sheer determination.

And then – seemingly dissolving into the golden light – both Starfleet officers vanished, leaving Jim and Spock alone in the laboratory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate update, and everyone's finally met one another - and a bittersweet goodbye! :( But we always knew it had to end this way.
> 
> Next week will be the last update, sort of a clearing up loose threads and epilogue situation. Thanks to all who've read (whether long-timers or just joined!), kudosed, left comments -- as per usual, I get emotionally attached to my Spirk longfics and it's always nice to see other people's reactions to the work.
> 
> (also, I had a very specific hug in mind for when Jim and Spock meet each other again, and it's absolutely the hug that happens in one of the best TOS time travel episodes - The City on the Edge of Forever. when jim/spock meet Bones again, spock and jim practically tackle this man to the ground.)


	15. Somewhere in an Apartment in San Francisco, 2251

The transporter let out the most ungodly screech as soon as Jim and Selek were beamed away. The overhanging portion of it came loose and fell with a scream of shearing metal, impacting the floor with such force that Jim took a step back. That couldn’t be good, was it? Jim wasn’t an expert in transporter technology – his only experience was what Selek ( _wait,_ no, Spock) had taught him in an ass-end of nowhere diner – but loud noises and things breaking apart were not great. Generally speaking. Slap an out of order sign on this bad boy.

Then the lights went out, the humming stopped, and they were dropped into silence.

Just him and … well, the younger version of the guy he’d just spent the better part of a week traveling with. It was hard for Jim to conceptualize _that_ guy with the grungy-looking bad boy in front of him, but hey, people changed all the time. _His_ future indicated that he was going to be a goddamn Starfleet captain. _That_ was insane.

It hadn’t hit him quite yet that the gushing Spock had been doing about his perfect husband (who Jim had sort of started to resent, because _he_ definitely had the hots for Spock and _he_ hadn’t abandoned his husband in a wheat field in Iowa) was actually about him. Future him. No-way-guaranteed-to-be-him- _him,_ but a version of him that could be.

 _Jesus._ What a life. Jim – other Jim – better count his blessings, or Jim – him Jim – was going to be having some _words._ Somehow.

The silence stretched on; it was clear that the transporter had no other information to give them. Jim crept forward behind Spock, who was staring at the terminal. It had gone entirely blank.

“Did it work?” Jim asked. It was practically a whispered question, but nevertheless seemed to echo around the room.

Spock was staring down at the blank terminal. “I - “ He tried to press a few buttons, move a few levers. Zilch. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Like, do we have any proof that we didn’t just instantly execute these guys?”

The Vulcan looked troubled, staring down at his defunct machine. In a final, futile gesture, he tried to tap at the terminal screen and got nothing for his trouble. “I – I don’t know.” It wasn’t turning on.

Fear bloomed up in him. That would be just his luck, wouldn’t it? Met the most incredible guy in the world, found out about his fucking awesome future, only to zap these guys into non-existence. Great. He found himself staring at the transporter pad for much longer than he should’ve, as if looking for a trace of their existence. There had to be _something._

“We need to go.” Spock readjusted his bag over his shoulder, glancing up towards the laboratory. “There are people after me.”

“ _People?”_ Already, Spock was off at a brisk pace, causing Jim to stumble along behind him. “What do you mean, people?”

“It’s co – “

“Oh, if you’re about to tell me ‘it’s complicated’, I’m just gonna start kicking you. I swear to god. I’ve had way too much ‘ _it’s complicated’_ over the past few days. And guess what, I just get an explanation? And it turns out to be _really fucking complicated!_ ”

Carefully, they retreated through the front entrance of the laboratory. Other than a completely powered-down (potentially broken) transporter, no sign they were ever there. Could they get DNA from tears? Because Jim _had_ felt a tear roll down his face and drop on the floor, when Spock was beaming away. He just had to cross his fingers and hope for the best.

They came into a deserted hallway. The cadets still had off for that ambassadorial event (which had been kind of fascinating, actually, and Jim was going to try to see if he could weasel his way in somewhere), so none strolled through the hallways. Nevertheless, Spock went as rigid as an English pointer.

Jim couldn’t see what he saw, initially, until he caught the sight of a Vulcan turning the corner in a long robe.

In a flash, Spock had grasped his hand. Jim could feel the rough leather of his gloves slide against his palm. “It’s my father’s aides. _Run.”_

His father’s aides? What the hell was he, some stableboy in a royal romance holovid?

Still, Jim was never one to avoid shouts of danger. He re-adjusted his hold on Spock’s hand (it was hard to get a firm grip, with that glove he was wearing, but _wow_ was that glove warm) and broke out into a run right beside him.

They pushed through the doors of the building until they were on the lawn. This was unknown territory – he’d been here, of course, but he didn’t know shit about San Francisco at large. Still, Spock’s grip never wavered from his hand, and Jim got a good feeling that Spock wasn’t running as fast as he could – probably outpacing his puny little human body.

Hey, at least this guy wasn’t leaving him out in the dust. Not like he had a reason to stick around, potential future be damned.

They passed the lawn together, Jim’s heart starting to thud against his eardrums. People started to look at them strangely when they got into the city proper. Well – maybe not stare at them, exactly. Spock, with his jacket flapping wildly over his blue uniform, looking for all the world like he was going to kill or be killed, he’d decide later, was definitely more eye-catching than he was.

He had no idea where they were going. It definitely wasn’t in the direction of the motel, though.

Jim couldn’t even be sure that they were still being followed, hoping instead that Spock had a better grasp on who the hell these guys were and what the hell their deal was. After seemingly running through miles of San Francisco’s grid-like streets, Spock began to slow. The grip on his hand loosened.

Even as it did, they didn’t _stop._ Spock continued moving, right into some apartment building, and Jim followed behind him. It was only when they stepped into the elevator that Spock looked over to make sure that Jim was there.

“Uh,” Jim whispered, before gesturing through the glass window to the streets below. Nobody, it seemed, was rushing in after them. “What was that? Just, you know. Take your time. Oh man. Oh man, my lungs are on fire. Okay.” Breathing heavily, he doubled over and put his hands on his knees.

“They work for my father. It’s … it is complicated,” Spock replied stiffly

“Uh, yeah, what did I say about complicated? I meet you for five seconds and you’re already running me through the streets of San Francisco.” It looked like this guy was going to voice an objection. “Technically five seconds. Don’t give me lip, jackass, you’re not Selek.”

“Selek.” It was a thoughtful sort of murmur, before Spock’s eyes lit up in realization. Jim didn’t ask what conclusion he had just come to. “I’ll explain it later.”

Still, with adrenaline pumping through Jim’s system, he couldn’t help but feel _alive._ He’d been concerned that, with Selek out of his life, that’d be it. Grand adventure done. And running away from advancing Vulcan forces with a guy he barely met? _Well,_ it was practically romantic. The elevator started to move up, causing Jim to wobble on his feet.

There was nothing to be done about Jim and Selek now. Jim felt that with a grim certainty. Those guys looked like they were _legends –_ and Jim and Spock were nowhere near ready to make a complicated transporter repair just to make sure they weren’t dead. If they were dead, they were dead. If they had made it – well, Jim wished them the best, he really did. But there was nothing else to be done about it. His role in that adventure had finished, and Jim tried to shove away the bubbling sadness.

“Where are we going?”

“My apartment.”

“You often invite random men back to your place? I could be nuts.”

“You could be married,” Spock remarked, and … _wow,_ okay.

He had a nice smile. It wasn’t over-the-top, barely a smile, practically a half-grin and a flash of teeth on one half of his face. Jim didn’t think he’d said anything very funny, but hey, he felt like the lamest kid in school who’d just gotten the coolest kid to laugh. The grief started to wear away, looking at that pretty smile.

“Are you kidding me? No way.” Jim turned to look through the glass window. It was a pretty look over San Francisco, wasn’t it? Gorgeous clear morning. Skyscrapers were definitely meant to kiss a blue sky. Nothing like that in Riverside, Iowa. Sure, blue skies by the armload, but nothing that filled Jim with a sense of hope like this.

Spock had moved to join him, staring through the window at a view he probably had watched a thousand times. “Before he left, Jim asked me to look after you.” He glanced at Jim through the side of his eye. “ ‘Until he gets a head on his shoulders or gets into serious shit.’ His exact wording.”

Huh. Nice of the guy. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad husband after all. “Well, saves me from having to go back to the motel. I’d rather not stay where the Murder Vulcans are staying, thanks.”

“They would not _murder,”_ Spock tacitly corrected, but the emphasis made Jim think that they were would be a couple of other things they would do. Man, Vulcans could have been pacifists, but they could be crazy scary.

The elevator door slid open and they walked in silence to Spock’s apartment. Internally, Jim couldn’t help but nudge away any thoughts of what would happen _now._ Missing his partner-in-crime, Jim felt lost. At least other-Jim had thought to make sure he had a place to crash, because otherwise, Jim didn’t know how many nights he’d spend feeling numb at the motel.

And this Spock seemed cool. Not like Selek at all. Same DNA or not, they were different people, that was for sure. He looked at one of the jagged tears in the back of Spock’s leather jacket. Definitely different people. Spock smelled like cologne. Way too much cologne.

“Nice place,” Jim greeted awkwardly. It _was_ nice, sure, but mostly surprising. It looked lived-in. From what he noticed of Selek in the motel, he was a clear follower of the ‘leave a place cleaner than where you left it’ doctrine. This guy looked – well, like he was a cadet living in a one-bedroom apartment.

Spock made a noise of acknowledgment and went deeper in the apartment, stopping in front of the fridge. Unsure of where to go, Jim felt himself staying by the front door. He’d never been shy in his life, but he’d also not been thrown into someone’s acquaintance quite so haphazardly.

Well, he _had,_ once _._ Which was sort of the whole problem.

“Do you drink?” Spock asked, holding up a bottle of –

Whoa. “Vulcans don’t feel the effects of vodka, though, right?” Jim asked, tilting his head to the side curiously. Maybe him-in-the-future was a real drunkard, and he found himself flinching at the thought. Jesus, he hoped not.

In his other hand, Spock retrieved a smaller bottle. “Chocolate liquor. Non-alcoholic by Human standards. I mix them in order to simulate an inebriation effect typically given by ethanol.” He placed both on the counter, before reaching up again to sort through a glass cabinet. “I realize that our first meeting is somewhat … rushed. You do not _truly_ know anything about me, just as I truly know nothing about you, but you will be staying with me.” Spock retrieved two wine glasses from his cabinet and held one in either hand as if displaying them to Jim. “We should get to know one another better. Therefore: alcohol.”

Before he could slap on something more dignified, Jim snorted. “Sure, man. Make me the half-Vulcan special.”

And Spock did. The guy was a _little_ heavy handed with the vodka, sure, but Jim nevertheless accepted his glass and moved to sit on the sofa. Spock peeled off his leather jacket and hung it off the back of his chair before curling up in it. It was strange, to see a guy sitting so stiffly when he looked a little like he had two black eyes. A nice look, though. Definitely a nice look.

As soon as Jim sat down, Spock was extending his gloved hand to him. Jim stared at it in confusion, before Spock clarified: “My name is S’chn T’gai Spock, of planet Vulcan, son of Sarek. How do you do.”

He was grinning like a damn fool. Jim grasped his hand and gave it a firm pump. Spock had a limp grip, like he wasn’t sure how to work a handshake. “James Tiberius Kirk, of planet Earth, Riverside, Iowa. Son of Captain Kirk. I’ve had the weirdest day, you wouldn’t believe.” He took a sip of his drink and grimaced through the burn of it in his throat. With one hand, he gestured to the glass. “I mean, look at me. Drinking at ten in the morning. I’m a wreck.”

“I am of a similar disposition. Vulcans do not recreationally intoxicating themselves, and here I am. Intoxicating myself recreationally.”

It was a peculiar mix of Human phrases and Vulcan-translated formalisms, not unlike his Human appearance and Vulcan posture. Jim found it pretty charming, in a guy-you-want-to-dance-with-at-the-masquerade-ball sort of way. He took another sip and relaxed in his chair.

Hey, he’d made it, hadn’t he? Made it all the way to San Francisco, helped his future self _and_ his future trophy husband get back to their time, and hadn’t even gotten arrested while doing it. If he could do all _that_ , he would be just fine with whatever ball got pitched at him.

Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. And, honestly? This guy seemed great. The future was looking up.

Spock downed his drink like he had somewhere to be, nearly making Jim spit out his own. “Alright, alright, alright,” Jim remarked, finding himself surprisingly relaxed in ways that couldn’t be due to the alcohol just yet. This was just … friendship. Or the starting of one, anyway. Spock seemed to get it, in ways that nobody else ever could. They shared a deep secret together, and Jim knew that they couldn’t tell anyone else. Not without seeming bonkers. “You promised me you’d explain about us being chased, didn’t you?”

“I find myself similarly curious about how you arrived in San Francisco, James Kirk of _Riverside, Iowa,”_ Spock emphasized. “Do you know how far away that is?”

“Uh, I’ve got an idea of it, yeah. But it’s not half as exciting as yours, I’m sure.” Still, there was an errant thought in the back of Jim’s mind that he had to address. “Look – I’ll tell you everything you wanna know. About me, about Selek, about whoever. But we’re on the same page that their future might not be our future, right? I’m not even talking about the, uh.” Wow. He’d screwed a couple of people in his barn back home, and now he found himself shy to say the word _marriage_ in front of this guy. What was _wrong_ with him? “You know. I mean _everything._ We shouldn’t try to _be_ them. Basic time travel holovid rules, isn’t it? We’re not gonna go rushing off and presuming that everything’s just going to be the same.” He stuck one finger out towards Spock in an accusing manner. “And you get to tell me if I’m starting to act like that fuddy-duddy old jackass, right? That dinosaur past his prime?”

Spock nodded gravely. “Similarly, you will inform me if I begun to act in a manner reminiscent of that perfidious computer.”

“ _Ha!_ Done and done, Spock.” He got himself comfortable on the couch, taking another sip. The alcohol had started to creep in his brain, settling there like a warm cat. Man, he never thought he’d be able to just shoot-the-shit in someone’s apartment when they had nowhere else to be. No danger looming, not even the danger of complacency. No Frank. No Riverside. Just … relaxing.

And what a guy to share it with. Spock’s eyes were wide, looking at him, sitting with his knees partially curled up to his chest and a drink in his hand. He looked comfortable. Hell, he looked almost _happy,_ for whatever it showed on his face. And – weirdly, a little relieved.

Jim felt something twist and writhe in his chest. No – _flutter._ Man, he was fucking sunk if this guy was already giving him butterflies. But he was so badass. So cool. Handsome, and nice, and aw, hell.

Jim was sunk.

One last sip, and the glass was away. Jim cleared his throat and began. “Alright, it started at around noon on a beautiful, cloudless day in Riverside, Iowa. I was coaching a baseball team for the anklebiters in town. And, when I went chasing a foul ball, I found this mysterious Vulcan lying half-dead in a wheat field …”


	16. An Indeterminate Time in the Future Present, Part II

All was quiet on the _USS Enterprise._

At first, it had been a hurricane of activity. They obviously hadn’t beamed aboard with any prior notice, and it seemed that in seconds, the entire senior staff and anyone in a quarter-mile radius was frantically pinging their communicators. Spock did not appreciate the onslaught of attention, but given that the shuttle containing Captain Kirk and Commander Spock had been crushed in the vacuum of space twelve seconds ago … Spock could forgive their urgency.

Spock had been separated from Jim in the ensuing tumult of regulations and obligations. While he did not enjoy it, he felt no great loss. On the _USS Enterprise,_ there were certain obligations that both a Captain and a First Officer had to complete. Those obligations could not be done while holding hands or sitting arm-in-arm (for the most part). And, once Jim managed to get out that they’d been trapped in 2251 for the better part of a week … well. Some questions had been raised. Understanadbly.

Sick bay, science laboratories, calls with Starfleet Admiralty. They had all started to blur together. There were very few people aboard the _USS Enterprise,_ so nearly everything was done through their communicators.

Jim had inquired why nobody had thought to beam back aboard. After all, he was reluctant to allow anyone other than Bones attend to his medical care. The officer mentioned shyly that the same astral storm that their shuttle had gotten caught up in _also_ prevented the transporter from being used in a safe manner.

Jim had grunted like he’d forgotten there’d been an astral storm at all. Spock could understand the sensation. Being in that shuttle had felt like a lifetime ago. Unfortunately, the ongoing astral storm also meant that they would be unable to leave the _Enterprise_ until the storm subsided.

After all that had happened, spending a night alone with his bondmate on a nearly-empty starship sounded like the best thing Spock could have conceived of.

They were in their quarters, lounging on the sofa that overlooked the observation window. Jim’s back was resting against the arm of it, and Spock had lain back on Jim’s chest. One of Jim’s arms was over Spock’s collarbone, loosely holding him in place. Spock took advantage of the opportunity to slowly stroke Jim’s forearm, from his elbow to his wrist and back again. The sensation wasn’t enough to be distracting, but felt instead soothing.

Spock highly enjoyed laying like this. They were both in their underwear, and the excessive skin-to-skin contact allowed emotions to flow between their bond freely. It smoothed over any jagged, raw exhaustion or anxiety or worry that either had been feeling. Instead, Spock was cuddling against Jim in loving bliss.

He had tried to beam thoughts across the bond, even meaningless ones, but he felt nothing on that end. Spock could only chalk it up to … well. It had been a very intense, emotional moment, one unlikely to be experienced again. He hoped not, anyway. He’d rather not worry like Jim again, and yet, he knew that he would, someday.

“ _Man,”_ Jim scoffed. “You get to go on a nice road-trip in a sweet ride. Meanwhile, I get arrested by your _dad._ How’s that any sort of fair?”

“Given your usual behavior, the only surprising part is that it went as smoothly as it did. I conducted myself maturely. Professionally.” Spock cracked his eyes open to look out the window. How beautiful space was. Certainly, there were some stars in San Francisco and more stars in Iowa, but all the stars were shining here in front of him. He felt like the warmth in his heart outmatched every single one of them, particularly when Jim leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

 _Sappy._ Being with Jim had certainly softened him, had it not?

“Especially considering that your first act was to tell a younger version of myself that you were his bondmate from the future and needed his help to commit a very serious crime,” he continued. Amusement snaked its way lazily through the bond. “Only _you_ could have managed something like that, ashayam. Truly. The only wonder is how you were not killed.”

“Hey, you’re as surprised as I am. What are the chances of something like _that_ working out?”

Spock was quick. “One in a million, four-hundred-and-thirty-five thousand –”

There was a hand suddenly placed over his mouth, preventing any further speech. Spock tilted his chin up to glare at Jim upside-down, causing Jim’s shoulders to shake with laughter. “You know _I_ know you’re talking out your ass when you do that, right?”

He used his free hand to pry Jim’s fingers away from his lips. “Only 43.7% of the time,” he answered in a tone so serious that Jim would be unable to tell if he was joking.

A kiss was pressed to Jim’s hand before he took it back, folding the arm behind his head casually. “So. That sure was some stuff you were going through, back then, huh. With the hair, and the -- _Eugh! –_ I just felt your cringe, _that_ was weird. When did you stop, uh – you know, acting like that?”

Of course Jim would want to know. Spock considered for a moment, idly staring out the window, before answering. “I don’t believe the answer will be what you hope for, Jim. There was no moment where I sat down and immediately came to terms with my identity.” He ran his thumb over one of Jim’s old scars on his forearm, almost perfectly blending into his arm hair. Jim usually dermally renegerated most of his skin after scarring, but some were so old that he hadn’t had the chance. “In truth? As I continued with the Academy, and as I started to spend more time aboard a starship with different regulations and expectations – it simply became _easier_ to follow a more Vulcan standard.”

“Neatness, efficiency, and logic, right?”

“Precisely what is needed on a starship. So, while my exterior behavior and appearance changed into something more traditionally Vulcan, my inner insecurities about my identity remained.”

“Until?”

Spock did not know how to answer that. In many ways, the struggle for his identity was as much a part of him as his identity itself – and although he had found a peace and comfort in who he was and what his life had become, he could not claim to have a solution to the problem of his birth. Other than, perhaps, his birth had not been a problem at all.

Jim’s arm tightened around his chest in response to Spock’s silence. They didn’t talk for some time again, staring out the window. The astral storm was largely invisible on the visible spectrum. Strange to think that there were electromagnetic pulses strong enough to kill them on the other side of the window.

“You have changed, too,” Spock remarked.

“Psh. Have I? It doesn’t feel like it, some days. Except for the grays,” Jim responded with so much sorrow that it made Spock want to chuckle. “Well. I guess I’m not the kid running around with clouds in his head anymore, looking for the next big adventure.”

“You are still that, Jim.”

“Hah! _Maybe.”_

“You are less frightened, now. More confident. More trusting. Less … “ Spock trailed off wryly. “ _Presumptuous_ in your romantic intentions.”

He had, during the course of explaining it to Jim, mentioned his younger counterpart’s fierce crush. Just like he had when Spock had first told him, Jim groaned and embarrassment spiked across the bond. “Kill me,” he muttered, and then – “I fell in love with you _twice._ People are going to think there’s something going on between us, and we can’t have that, huh, Pointy?” It was punctuated with a soft pinch on Spock’s ear.

“What would remain of your reputation if they did think as much?”

Jim snorted and leaned down to kiss him. Spock’s head tilted backward to meet his lips, simply basking in the joy of being near him again. He was pleased that Jim was okay. He was beyond pleased that Jim was okay. The uncertainty of their situation had troubled him greatly, and Spock knew that he would spend a non-insignificant amount of time tomorrow pouring over data to determine how this could best be avoided again.

But for now, he could also bask in this. That the love of his life – the love of all of his lives – was alright. That he was with him again, and the complex giant machine that was the universe made sense once more.

Spock made himself comfortable against Jim’s front again. It was almost like he was absorbing Jim’s love through osmosis. Highly intoxicating feeling, one that he never really got used to. He could _melt._

“What do you think those crazy kids are doing?” Jim asked, and then, amending: “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

“As nothing has changed in the future, we can presume their actions in the past will not affect us.” Not the question Jim asked, but one that Spock wanted to clarify. He had looked up their Starfleet records and found that nothing had changed. Spock continued: “Logically, Jim, I could not say for certain. _You_ moved to San Francisco much earlier than anticipated. _I_ was arrested and engaged in criminal activity. We have both become companions, and that is …” Spock pursed his lips. “Chaotic. To be certain.”

“Yeah? Well, I can’t imagine any scenario where me knowing you would make things _worse._ You’ve always made me a better man, Spock, _always.”_

“That is not …” _… how it works,_ Spock finished internally, but found that he was unable to finish that thought. Instead, he echoed Jim’s own sentiment: “You have also made me a better man, t’hy’la.”

And he meant that. Not even a better Vulcan, nor a better human – though arguments could be made for both. Jim’s presence in his life made him better overall, because … well, with a man as caring, kind, and brave by his side, how could Spock not rise to emet that standard?

The arm around his chest tightened in a makeshift hug. “I think they’ll be just fine. Long as Jim doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Nor Spock.”

“Smartest thing you can ask of an eighteen and twenty year old, huh?” Jim paused. “I’m going to be _pissed_ if I don’t get an invite to the wedding.” The joke was met with a polite snort from Spock.

“Youth and their whims.” Spock’s eyes had mostly slid shut, then, relaxing entirely against Jim. Humans had so much _body heat._ It was like laying on a very soft, very warm pillow. That he could hear Jim’s heartbeat against the back of his skull or feel the reassuring weight of Jim’s arm against his chest was simply an additional advantage.

“You know, there’s one thing that I learned, though. Through everything.” Jim craned his head down so he was speaking closer to Spock’s ear. His breath ruffled the hair on the side of his head. “I am the _luckiest_ guy in the galaxy.”

 _Oh._ Spock flushed, but did not allow his emotions to reach his face. Instead, eyes closed, Spock added in a neutral tone: “But how can you be, when I have already claimed the title?”

He heard Jim’s head rustle against the arm of the sofa again. “Charmer,” he accused, and then, softer: “Love you, t’hy’la.”

“You’ve pronounced it correctly.” Spock did not mean to sound as surprised as he was. Jim had struggled with the hard – and, in his defense, _t’hy’la_ had been complex and archaic.

“I’ve had lots of time practicing.”

“I see. Know that I love you, too. As I always will.”

Grogginess was starting to overcome him. Spock adjusted himself so that he was lying on his side, resting in between Jim’s legs and using Jim’s chest as a pillow. To be certain, he could get up and sleep in his own bed – but how would that compare to a view of the stars? To resting on his bondmate as he slowly drifted off to sleep? Jim’s arms encircled him and, from the slowing of his heart rate, too began to go under.

How strange to think that some part of him missed Jim’s younger counterpart still, and felt concern over his general well-being. He thought of that Jim, and his own younger self. How much easier it would have been to get through the great tragedies of his life with his most faithful support by his side – he had survived either way, clearly, but it would have been easier to have a brighter light at the end of the tunnel. Someone who – to use a Human term – _had his back._

He very well could have doomed his younger self’s timeline into extinction – but he did not think it was so. As Jim had said, they had accomplished extraordinary things with one another, had been better people because of each other’s influence. Perhaps that was the gift he had given his and Jim’s younger selves: a chance for a past, and a future, brighter than his own.

Regardless of what the rest of their lives held – as Spock finally fell asleep, he wished them all the very best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! All is well for Jims and Spocks alike. It feels strange to have this fic end, but all things must! Thank you to new and old readers alike, everyone who's left a comment or kudos, for my lil time travel/first meeting AU. Live long and prosper, y'all. 🖖🖖🖖

**Author's Note:**

> Updates - a chapter every Saturday!


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